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A HISTORY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY IN EUROPE

GENERAL EDITOR
WALTER RUEGG

VOLUME II
UNIVERSITIES IN EARLY MODERN EUROPE

(I 500-1800)

EDITOR
HILDE DE RIDDER-SYMOENS

<8 CAMBRIDGE

i UNIVERSITY PRESS

Published by the Press Syndicate of the University of Cambridge
The Pitt Building, Trumpington Street, Cambridge CB2 IRP
40 West 2oth Street, New York, NY 10011-4211, USA
10 Stamford Road, Oakleigh, Melbourne 3166, Australia

© Cambridge University Press 1996
First published 1996
Printed in Great Britain at the University Press, Cambridge
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress cataloguing in publication data
Universities in early modern Europe, 1500—-1800/editor, Hilde de Ridder-Symoens.
p. cm.-—(A history of the university in Europe; v. 2)
Includes bibliographical references and indexes.
ISBN O 521 36106 O
1. Universities and colleges —- Europe — History. 2 Education.
Higher — Europe — History. 1. Ridder-Symoens. Hilde de. nm. Series. LA179.U5 5 1996
378.4'09’03 — dc20 94-1270 CIP

ISBN © 521 36106 o hardback

CONTENTS

List of maps page xi
Contributors and editors xii
Reader’s guide XV
Bibliographical abbreviations used in notes XVi
FOREWORD

WALTER RUEGG (General Editor) xix
Acknowledgements XXIV

PART I: THEMES AND PATTERNS

CHAPTER 1: THEMES

WALTER RUEGG

Introduction 3
Historical turning points 8
Desire for and openness to discoveries 14
Science as a means of control over nature i7
The beginnings of cosmography 18
Human rights and international law 22
New objectives of university education 24
International and national academic communication 26
The age of eloquence 28
The new collective self-consciousness 29
Humanism and the universities 23
Select bibliography 41

Contents

CHAPTER 2: PATTERNS

WILLEM FRIJHOFF

The purposes of universities 43
What was a university in the early modern period? 47
The status of higher education 52
The university and its competitors 57
Typologies 64
The pace of university foundation 70
North and south: full and empty spaces on the map 74
List of European universities in the early modern period 80
Maps 90
Select bibliography 106

PART II: STRUCTURES
CHAPTER 3: RELATIONS WITH AUTHORITY

NOTKER HAMMERSTEIN

The development of the early modern state 114
Humanism — Reformation — Counter-Reformation 115
Absolutism and Enlightenment £22
French universities 124
Universities in the Iberian peninsula 129
Universities in the British Isles 134
Universities in the Holy Roman Empire 140
Confederate universities 143
Universities in the Low Countries 144
Polish universities 146
Universities in the northern European countries 147
Italian universities 148
Select bibliography 152

CHAPTER 4: MANAGEMENT AND RESOURCES

HILDE DE RIDDER-SYMOENS

General university structure 155
Colleges and nations 158
Internal government 164
External government 179
Finance 183
Academic buildings 190
Libraries, archives and university presses 195
Academic insignia 205
Select bibliography 208

Contents

CHAPTER 5: TEACHERS

PETER A. VANDERMEERSCH

Kinds of teachers and teaching systems 210
Teaching as a profession 214
Appointments 219
Some general characteristics of the professoriate 233
University teaching, a well-paid profession? 232
Careers and mobility 239
Professors, a distinct and distinguished social class? 244
Table: Individual taxes levied in the duchy of Brabant in 1631 252
Select bibliography 255

CHAPTER 6: EXPORTING MODELS

JOHN ROBERTS, AGUEDA MARIA RODRIGUEZ CRUZ AND
JURGEN HERBST

Prefatory note 256
The New World setting 256
The models available 259
The foundation of colonial universities 262
The working of colonial higher education 267
The achievement of the European university model in the

Americas 280
Select bibliography 282

PART III: STUDENTS

CHAPTER 7: ADMISSION

MARIA ROSA DI SIMONE

Admission to the university 285
Intellectual prerequisites 289
Academic restrictions 293
Attendance trends 297
Numbers 302
The social origin of students 311
Select bibliography 324

CHAPTER 8: STUDENT EDUCATION,
STUDENT LIFE
RAINER A. MULLER
Professionalization and secularization 326
Two systems of study: modus Parisiensis — modus
Bononiensis 329

Vil

Contents

Academic privileges 331
The collegiate system 333
The academic day 339
Teaching forms and teaching practice 343
Board and lodging 345
Student ceremonies 349
Holidays and free time 351
Select bibliography 353

CHAPTER 9: GRADUATION AND CAREERS

WILLEM FRIJHOFF

Degrees: symbols and realities 355
Costs and benefits 363
Degrees as qualifications for professional practice 370
Numbers 477
Social functions 386
The alienated intellectuals 393
Professions and professionalization 397
Careers and social mobility 406
Select bibliography 415

CHAPTER 10: MOBILITY

HILDE DE RIDDER-SYMOENS.

Humanism and the Renaissance 416
The Reformation and Counter-Reformation 419
Protestant universities 421
Catholic universities 424
Tolerant universities 426
The universities as places of refuge 428
The Grand Tour 431
The Enlightenment 436
General trends 439
Select bibliography 447

PART IV: LEARNING

CHAPTER 11: TRADITION AND INNOVATION

OLAF PEDERSEN

The faculty of medicine 452
The faculty of laws 455
The faculty of arts: the impact of humanism 457

The faculty of arts: the challenge of technology 464

Vill

Contents

The exodus of the scientists
Theology

Minority problems

The rise of the academies
Select bibliography

CHAPTER 12: NEW STRUCTURES OF
KNOWLEDGE
WILHELM SCHMIDT-BIGGEMANN
Scholarship and science at the universities
Types of science
Theology: leading science in the sixteenth century
Jurisprudence: leading science in the Baroque period
Reorganization of the sciences and the primacy of philosophy
in the Enlightenment
Select bibliography

CHAPTER 13: THE SCIENTIFIC REVOLUTION
AND UNIVERSITIES
ROY PORTER

The university in the dock

The Scientific Revolution

Examining the evidence

The universities and scientific thought

Science moves out

The New Science and the universities

Select bibliography

CHAPTER 14: CURRICULA
LAURENCE BROCKLISS

Methods of teaching

The faculty of arts

The faculty of theology

The faculty of law

The faculty of medicine

Select bibliography

EPILOGUE: THE ENLIGHTENMENT
NOTKER HAMMERSTEIN

The Enlightenment

Nationalization of science

Educational pragmatism

Secularization

470
474
478
480

487

489
491
500

599

517
529

531
536
542
548
553

559
561

565
579
593
599
609
619

621
623
624
626

Contents

Status of the disciplines
Differentiation of university patterns and academic reforms
Select bibliography

Editor’s note on the indexes

Name index

Subject index

629
630
639
641
642

663

‘© CON QAM BW PVP

MAPS

Universities active in 1500 page
Foundations 1501-1550

Foundations 1551-1600

Foundations 1601-1650

Foundations 1651-1700

Foundations 1701-1750

Foundations 1751-1800

Universities stricto sensu active in 1790

Universities stricto sensu abolished, transferred or
permanently merged with other universities 1500-1790
The Jesuits’ university offensive

The non-Catholic universities in the eighteenth century

95
96
OF
98
99
IOO
IOI
Io2

103
104
105

CONTRIBUTORS AND EDITORS

ASA BRIGGS (United Kingdom) was born in Yorkshire in 1921. Lord
Briggs, who is now retired, is former provost of Worcester College
Oxford (1976-92), former vice-chancellor of the University of Sussex
(1967-76), president of the British Social History Society, and former
chairman (1974-90) of the European Institute of Education and Social
Policy in Paris. From 1978 to 1994 he was chancellor of the Open
University.

LAURENCE BROCKLISS (United Kingdom) was born in Beckenham
(Kent) in 1950. Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford, where he is tutor
in modern history, he was the editor of History of Universities from
1986 to 1993. He is the author of a number of books and articles on
the teaching of philosophy and medicine in French universities and the
intellectual role of the college and university in seventeenth- and
eighteenth-century France.

WILLEM FRIJHOFF (The Netherlands) was born in Zutphen in 1942.
Professor of the history of early modern culture and mentalities at
Erasmus University, Rotterdam, his current research concerns reading
culture, the intellectual professions, and informal ways of culture trans-
fer in early modern Europe. He is a member of the editorial board of
History of Universities and a member of the Royal Netherlands Acad-
emy of Arts and Sciences.

ALEKSANDER GIEYSZTOR (Poland) was born in Moscow in 1916.
Former president of the Polish Academy of Sciences (1980-4 and 1990-
4) and director of the Royal Castle in Warsaw (1980-92), he is emeritus
professor of history at the University of Warsaw.

NOTKER HAMMERSTEIN (Germany) was born in Offenbach am Main
in 1930. Professor of early modern history at the University of Frank-

Contributors and editors

furt-on-Main, he has published several works on the history of German
universities and the history of learning. He is a member of the editorial
board of History of Universities.

JURGEN HERBST (United States of America) was born in Braunschweig
in 1928. Professor emeritus of educational policy studies and of history
at the University of Madison, Wisconsin, he is a member of the National
Academy of Education. From 1988 to 1991 he served as chairman of
the International Standing Conference for the History of Education. His
publications and teaching focus primarily on the history of American
education, and on American history and civilization.

RAINER A. MULLER (Germany) was born in Bleche/Olpe (NRW) in
1944. Having worked as an assistant at the Institute for Medieval His-
tory of the University of Munich, followed by a period as scientific
adviser at the Haus der Bayerischen Geschichte, he was appointed pro-
fessor of history at the Catholic University of Eichstatt.

OLAF PEDERSEN (Denmark) was born in 1920. He is emeritus professor
of the history of science at the University of Aarhus and a visiting fellow
of St Edmund’s House, Cambridge. He is vice-president of the Inter-
national Union for the History and Philosophy of Science and president
of the Historical Commission of the International Astronomical Union.

ROY PORTER (United Kingdom) was born in Hitchin (Herts.) in 1946.
Following a teaching and research career in history at the University of
Cambridge, he was appointed professor in the social history of medicine
at the Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine, London, in 1982.
He has published extensively and edits the journal History of Science.

HILDE DE RIDDER-SYMOENS (Belgium) was born in_ Sint-Jans-
Molenbeek (Brussels) in 1943. Professor of medieval history at the Free
University of Amsterdam, she is also a research associate for the Belgian
National Fund for Scientific Research at the University of Ghent. Since
1985, she has been secretary general of the International Commission
for the History of Universities.

JOHN ROBERTS (United Kingdom) was born in Bath in 1928. Warden
of Merton College, Oxford (1983-94), where he was previously fellow
and tutor in modern history, he was also vice-chancellor of the Univer-
sity of Southampton for a number of years. From 1967 to 1976 he was
joint editor of the English Historical Review.

AGUEDA MARIA RODRIGUEZ CRUZz (Spain) was born in Tazacorte in the
Canary Islands (Isla de la Palma) in 1933. She was educated in Spain,
Venezuela and Columbia and is a member of the Dominican Order. Full

xili

Contributors and editors

professor at the University of Salamanca since 1985 (where she pre-
viously held a temporary professorship), she is a specialist in the history
of Latin American education and has published extensively in this field.

WALTER RUEGG (Switzerland) was born in Zurich in 1918. Emeritus
professor of sociology at the University of Berne, and former professor
of sociology at the University of Frankfurt, he was rector of the latter
institution from 1965 until 1970. He is the general editor of this History
of the University in Europe.

WILHELM SCHMIDT-BIGGEMANN (Germany) was born in Olpe (NRW)
in 1946. Professor of philosophy at the Free University of Berlin, his
research concerns primarily the history of philosophy and the humanities
in medieval and early modern times.

EDWARD SHILS (United States of America) was born in Springfield, Mas-
sachusetts, in 1910, and died in Chicago in 1995. Founder and editor
of Minerva, he was professor of social thought and sociology at the
University of Chicago. He was also a fellow of Peterhouse, Cambridge,
as well as of the London School of Economics.

MARIA ROSA DI SIMONE (Italy) was born in Rome in 1949. After teach-
ing the history of Italian law at the University of Rome, as an associate
professor, she was appointed professor at the University of Trieste in
1986. She has published several works on the teaching of law and on
the history of political and social institutions, as well as on the history
of the university.

PETER VANDERMEERSCH (Belgium) was born in Torhout in 1961 and
studied history at the University of Ghent. After a period as a researcher
at the Belgian National Fund for Scientific Research and as an assistant
at the University of Antwerp, he is now working as a journalist for the
Belgian daily newspaper, De Standaard.

JACQUES VERGER (France) was born in Talence, near Bordeaux, in
1943. He is maitre de conférences in medieval history at the Ecole Nor-
male Supérieure in Paris and vice-president of the International Com-
mission for the History of Universities.

XIV

READER’S GUIDE

This series, although compiled by specialists, is destined for the general
reader. The notes and bibliographies accompanying the different chap-
ters have therefore been kept to a minimum. The notes are either biblio-
graphical references to specific sources, generally the most important or
recent works relating to the subject, or they have been introduced to
justify quantitative data or explain any significant difference between
two interpretations of a particular point. A select bibliography follows
each chapter. These bibliographies are designed to stimulate further
reading and are not exhaustive. The reader will find more complete
bibliographical references in the works indicated. As a number of well-
known works for the period are quoted in several chapters, abbrevi-
ations of the titles of these works have been used in the notes. A list of
bibliographical abbreviations is included. Furthermore, the reader will
find a more general bibliography and some maps at the end of chapter 2
(‘Patterns’), as this chapter locates the presence and nature of universities
during the early modern period. In order to avoid too many overlaps
between the various chapters, the editors have made cross-references to
other chapters in the text as well as in the notes, thereby informing the
reader that more ample information on the subject can be found else-
where in the volume (see also the geographical and subject index). The
standard English version of proper names has been used throughout;
when necessary, a form more commonly used in continental Europe is
indicated by means of a cross-reference in the name index.

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
ABBREVIATIONS USED IN
NOTES

Ajo Gonzalez, Universidades hispanicas
C. M. Ajo Gonzalez de Rapariegos y Sainz de Zifiiga, Historia de las universi-
dades hispanicas. Origenes y desarrollo desde su aparicién a nuestros dias,
11 vols. (Madrid, 1957-77).

Brockliss, French Higher Education
L. W. B. Brockliss, French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eight-
eenth Centuries. A Cultural History (Oxford, 1987).

Chartier, Education en France
R. Chartier, M.-M. Compére and D. Julia, L’Education en France du XVIe
au XVIIIe siécle (Paris, 1976).

Coing, Handbuch I
H. Coing (ed.), Handbuch der Quellen und Literatur der neueren euro-
pdischen Privatrechtsgeschichte, vol. 1 (Munich, 1973).

Coing, Handbuch II
H. Coing (ed.), Handbuch der Quellen und Literatur der neueren euro-
pdischen Privatrechtsgeschichte, vol. 11 (Munich, 1977).

Conrads, Ritterakademien
N. Conrads, Ritterakademien der friihen Neuzeit. Bildung als Standesprivileg
im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert (Gottingen, 1982).

Frijhoff, Gradués
W. Frijhoff, La Société néerlandaise et ses gradués, 1575-1814. Une recherche
sérielle sur le statut des intellectuels a partir des registres universitaires
(Amsterdam/Maarssen, 1981).

Hengst, Jesuiten
K. Hengst, Jesuiten an Universitaten und Jesuitenuniversitaten (Paderborn/
Munich/Vienna/Zurich, 1981).

History of Oxford II
J. McConica (ed.), The History of the University of Oxford, vol. 11: The Col-
legiate University (general editor: T. H. Aston) (Oxford, 1986).

Xvi

Bibliographical abbreviations used in notes

History of Oxford V
L. S. Sutherland and L. E. Mitchell (eds.), The History of the University of
Oxford, vol. v: The Eighteenth Century (general editor: T. H. Aston) (Oxford,
1986).

I collegi universitari
D. Maffei and H. de Ridder-Symoens (eds.), I collegi universitari in Europa
tra il XIV e il XVIII secolo. Atti del Convegno di Studi della Commissione
Internazionale per la Storia delle Universita, Siena-Bologna 16-19 maggio
1988 (Milan, 1990).

Kagan, Students and Society
R. L. Kagan, Students and Society in Early Modern Spain (Baltimore/London,
1974).

Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen
H. F. Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen: Universities and Society in Pre-
Industrial Britain, 1500-1700 (London, 1970).

Klinge, Kuningliga Akademien
M. Klinge, A. Leiloka, R. Knapas and J. Stromberg, Kuningliga Akademien i
Abo 1640-1808, Helsingfors Universitet 1640-1990, vol. 1 (Helsinki, 1988).

McClelland, State, Society and University
C. E. McClelland, State, Society and University in Germany 1700-1914
(Cambridge, 1980).

Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts
F. Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehbrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen
und Universitaten: vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart mit
besonderer Riicksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1885;
3rd edn, Leipzig, 1919); vol. 11, 3rd edn (Leipzig/Berlin, 1921).

Populations étudiantes
D. Julia, J. Revel and R. Chartier (eds.), Les Universités européennes du XVle
au XVIIIe siécle. Histoire sociale des populations étudiantes, 2 vols. (Paris,
1986-9).

Roche, Le Siécle des Lumieéres
D. Roche, Le Siécle des Lumiéres en province. Académies et académiciens
provinciaux 1680-1789, 2 vols. (The Hague/Paris, 1978).

Stone (ed.), The University in Society
L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society, 2 vols. (Princeton, N.J., 1974).

Universitat und Gelehrtenstand
H. Rossler and G. Franz (eds.), Universitat und Gelehrtenstand 1400-1800
(Limburg/Lahn, 1970).

Universités européennes
Les Universités européennes du XIVe au XVIIIe siécle. Aspects et problémes
(Geneva, 1967).

Verger (ed.), Universités en France
J. Verger (ed.), Histoire des universités en France (Toulouse, 1986).

xvii

FOREWORD

WALTER RUEGG
(General Editor)

‘The history of universities was terra incognita until the early 1950s,
inhabited only by pious hagiographers, myopic chroniclers and that
most dangerous of pre-historic animals, the historians of education. This
latter creature ... only seems to be concerned with gathering historical
justifications for contemporary educational nostrums, or identifying the
earliest instance of a pedagogic practice that meets with modern appro-
bation.’’ This judgement taken from an essay on the history of English
universities of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, contains, despite
certain exaggerations and insults, a kernel of truth, and it should serve
as a warning for all those who concern themselves with the past of the
alma mater studiorum. For, as another historian has written: ‘As a gen-
eral rule, the history of a university has been written as a piece of
“official” history by specially appointed historians. In such circum-
stances, the portrait normally appears without the warts.”

The present History of the University in Europe was initiated by the
Standing Conference of Rectors, Presidents and Vice—Chancellors of the
European Universities (CRE), which has some five hundred universities
from eastern and western Europe as members. Nevertheless, it is any-
thing but an ‘official’ history of European universities. As was stated in
detail in the introduction to the first volume, the CRE, which met regu-
larly for conferences to discuss the current problems and the future tasks
of its members, decided at the beginning of the 1980s that it needed to

’ V. Morgan, ‘Approaches to the History of the English Universities in the Sixteenth and
Seventeenth Centuries’, in G. Klingenstein, H. Lutz and G. Stourzh (eds.), Bildung, Poli-
tik und Gesellschaft. Studien zur Geschichte des europdischen Bildungswesens vom 16.
bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Wiener Beitrage zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 5 (Vienna, 1978),
142.

* Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen, 11.

xix

Walter Riiegg

have a better knowledge of the history of universities. Since such a work
was lacking, it proposed that there should be a meeting of historians
and sociologists of universities who would reflect on the feasibility of
such a project. In 1983, after it was decided that such a scheme could
be carried out, it gave the responsibility for elaborating it and then carry-
ing it out to an editorial board.

The plan for a work in four volumes, the selection of contributors,
the coordination and editing of the contributions were and are entirely
the responsibility of the editorial board. That board had as its only guid-
ing principle the aim to produce a comparative and comprehensive
analysis, taking into account the most recent research on the social set-
ting and tasks, the distinctive intellectual and institutional features, the
structures and the main pre’*!-ms of the European university from the
Middle Ages to the present. It was to deal with the fundamental and
enduring characteristics of the European universities, with what was
common to them and with their national and regional variations.
Financial support and physical accommodation for editorial meetings,
scholarly assistance and translation have been provided by private phil-
anthropic foundations and universities. The general secretariat of the
Standing Conference of Rectors has been available to the editorial board
for administrative purposes.

As the first volume on the medieval universities, which appeared in
1992, showed, many of the studies on medieval universities published
before 1950, even if they were produced on the occasion of jubilees and
in justification of present aspirations, have directly and indirectly added
considerably to the illumination of the terra incognita of university his-
tory. This notwithstanding, we repeatedly encountered open questions
and subjects which had been left untouched by research.

This has proved to be even more true for the period from 1500 to
1800. The only detailed work treating, on the basis of the sources, the
development of higher education and universities, curricula and teach-
ing, as well as the economic, political and intellectual setting, did not
deal with the whole of Europe but only with the German-speaking areas;
the author acknowledged in the foreword that ‘it was interest in the
future of our higher education which led me to occupy myself with the
past’.° In fact, the aim of Friedrich Paulsen, professor of philosophy and
education at the University of Berlin, in the public discussion before
the famous educational conference in Berlin in 1890, was to break the
monopoly of the ancient languages of the Gymmnasia; for this reason he
tried to demonstrate their uselessness for a genuinely humanistic edu-
cation. Nevertheless, he adhered to the old maxim, ‘History can teach

> Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1885; 3rd edn, Leipzig,
1919), XVI.

Foreword

only those who listen to it, not those who want to tell it something.’
The product, which first appeared in two stout volumes in 1888, became
the classic work on the history of the Gymmnasia and universities in
German-speaking countries in the period between 1500 and - in the
third edition — 1914."

As Jacques Verger observed as late as 1981, the universities of early
modern times did not enjoy a good reputation. In speaking of them,
words like ‘sclerosis’, ‘decadence’, ‘coma’, were used. One of the reasons
for this was that the rich documentation which was available had been
used only sparingly.’ In 1984, Heiko Oberman cited three causes for
this situation: one was that, while the history of universities was a special
field for medievalists, modern historians were more interested in other
fields in which ‘real’ life could be studied, and they gave no more than
a courteous nod to the universities. A second reason, according to Ober-
man, was that early research in the Renaissance confined itself to the
conflict between humanism and scholasticism at the beginning of the
sixteenth century. The third reason — the best historians of universities
themselves alleged this - was that the universities of the centuries
between 1500 and 1800 became less interesting, because they neglected
their social function and fell into a state of crisis at a time when their
respective societies needed them most.°®

In the meantime, the study of early modern universities has changed
markedly for the better, thereby reducing the persuasiveness of these
assertions. During the last decades, there have been important investi-
gations, especially on scientific and educational developments and on
the social mobility and vocational orientation of students. These investi-
gations have in many respects corrected the negative image of the decay
of the universities. The contrast between humanism and scholasticism
has, in recent research on the Renaissance, been made much less sharp,
and it is really nowadays relevant only at a few points. The social role
of the universities provides the main themes of our four volumes. The
present volume shows that the functions of the universities did, in fact,
change in adaptation to immediate social necessities and demands.

Perhaps it was this change in their social function from the search for
truth to meeting social needs, which stood in the way of a comprehensive
history of universities between 1500 and 1800. The survey of the

* Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, vol. u, 3rd edn (Leipzig/Berlin, 1921).

> J. Verger, ‘Les universités a l’€poque moderne’, in G. Mialaret and J. Vial (eds.), Histoire
mondiale de l’éducation, vol. 1 (Paris, 1981), 247-72; M.-M. Compére, ‘Les universités:
d’une cléricature a |’autre’, in Chartier, Education en France, 249; J. Le Goff, ‘La concep-
tion frangaise de l’université a l’époque de la Renaissance’, in Universités européennes,
96-8.

° H. A. Oberman, ‘University and Society on the Threshold of Modern Times: the German
Connection’, in J. M. Kittelson and P. J. Transue (eds.), Rebirth, Reform and Resilience:
Universities in Transition 1300-1700 (Columbus, Ohio, 1984), 21-5.

xxl

Walter Riiegg

literature which follows chapter 2 refers, under the heading of ‘General
works’, to two short surveys by our collaborators Frijhoff and Verger,
three collections of essays which deal with various aspects of the subject,
and three books which deal with the European scene as a whole. The
book of Stefan d’Irsay impressively summarized in 168 pages the state
of knowledge up to 1933. The Historical Compendium of European
Universities, which appeared in 1984 in close connection with our pro-
ject, contains the most important historical dates and bibliography for
individual universities. Le universita dell’Europa, published in Italy in a
luxurious edition with many illustrations, covers the period between
1500 and 1650 in its second volume. The texts, written by excellent
scholars, present the history of the universities of the different European
countries; its bibliographical references for each chapter are very
scanty.

The most important historical works on the European universities,
like those of Denifle, Kaufmann and Rashdall, begin and end - partly
contrary to the authors’ own intentions — with the Middle Ages. To
avoid such a danger, the editorial board began work on the present
volume two years before it started the first volume. That it began to be
ready for publication only a year after the publication of the first volume
may be taken as evidence of the difficulties which arose in connection
with certain chapters and which required repeated revision and even
replacement of contributors.

Charles B. Schmitt, the great authority on the history of universities
of the sixteenth century and the founder of the ground-breaking inter-
national yearbook entitled History of Universities, wrote in 1975:

Not only is much basic work left to be done on the documents themselves
of even the most important and influential university centers, but we are
sorely in need of synthetic and comparative studies relating several univer-
sities to one another. Nevertheless, even on the basis of materials which
have already been published, we are in a position to begin some sort of
synthesis.

Our own work can be no more than what Schmitt claimed for his essay:
‘In brief, what follows is to be considered merely a preliminary attempt
at a general synthesis’.’

The present volume is parallel in its structure to the first volume —
with two exceptions. In Part II (Structures) we present an account — as
was indicated in the foreword to the first volume — of the transfer of
European university models to other continents; in the sixteenth and

” C. B. Schmitt, ‘Philosophy and Science in Sixteenth Century Universities: Some Prelimi-
nary Comments’, in J. E. Murdoch and E. D. Sylla (eds.), The Cultural Context of
Medieval Learning (Dordrecht, 1975), 485-537; quotations: 485 and 486.

XXxil

Foreword

seventeenth centuries the transfer was to Central, South and North
America. Although we had at first planned to publish two sub-chapters,
we subsequently decided, in view of the European perspective of the
work as a whole, to bring the two separate sub-chapters into a single
comparative chapter. In Part IV (‘Learning’), we did not follow the medi-
eval division of faculties, partly because the development of science in
our period cuts across boundaries of the old faculties, and partly because
some parts of the development occurred quite outside the universities.
This section is introduced by “Tradition and Innovation’, which is a his-
torical analysis of the sciences as they developed in the Middle Ages and
their renewal and growth within and outside the universities. A substan-
tial presentation of the content of what was taught in the four faculties
forms the conclusion of the section. Between those two parts, there is a
chapter entitled ‘Frameworks of Knowledge’, which treats the various
attempts made to conceptualize and systematize the rapidly expanding
stock of knowledge, from theology as the dominant science of the
Middle Ages and the period of the Reformation to jurisprudence, which
became the dominant science of the seventeenth century, and then phil-
osophy, which attained a similar position in the eighteenth century. The
chapter on the growth of science examines the central theme of the his-
tory of science of this period — the Scientific Revolution. It shows that,
to a greater extent than was formerly thought, there was a growth of
science in the British universities and it deals with the influence of this
growth on the universities.

The various chapters, as in the first volume, were revised by the editors
in full sessions of their board and then by the individual authors. The
final version, as in the case of the first volume, was revised by the volume
editor, Hilde de Ridder-Symoens.

xxiii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The preparatory work for A History of the University in Europe has
been generously supported by the Max and Else Beer-Brawand Fund of
the University of Berne, the Donors’ Association for the Promotion of
Sciences and Humanities in Germany (Stifterverband fiir die deutsche
Wissenschaft) in Essen, the European Cultural Foundation in Amster-
dam, the Konrad Adenauer Foundation in Bonn, the Ramon Areces
Foundation in Madrid, the Portuguese Secretary of State for Higher Edu-
cation, the National Institute for Scientific Research, and the Calouste
Gulbenkian Foundation in Lisbon, the Antonio de Almeida Foundation
in Oporto, the Jubilee Foundation of the Zurich/Vita/Alpina insurance
companies in Zurich, Hoffmann-La Roche & Co. in Basle, Nestlé in
Vevey, the Swiss Credit Bank in Zurich, the Volkswagen Foundation in
Hanover, and the Fritz Thyssen Foundation in Cologne. We thank these
patrons wholeheartedly. We are no less grateful to the universities at
which our conferences and discussions have taken place, notably the
Universities of Berne, Salamanca, Coimbra, Eichstatt, Oxford, Bochum,
Bologna and Ghent. We should also like to express our gratitude to
Professors Grete Klingenstein of the University of Graz and W. Roy Nib-
lett, emeritus professor at the University of London; as members of the
editorial board in the early stages of the project, they helped to outline
the framework of our History. Furthermore, we acknowledge the advice
and support of Professor Nikolaus Lobkowicz, former president of the
University of Munich and now president of the Catholic University of
Eichstatt, who played a key role in defining and launching the whole
undertaking. Finally, we wish to thank the national correspondents
throughout Europe who gave so generously of their time and knowledge
and helped to make this volume more ‘European’ in its scope: Professor
Miquel Batllori of the Gregorian University in Rome; Dr John Fletcher

XXIV

Acknowledgements

of Aston University in Birmingham; Professor Tore Frangsmyr of
Uppsala University; Professor Matti Klinge of Helsinki University; Pro-
fessor Joseph Lee of University College Cork; Mr Michael Moss of
Glasgow University; Professor Kamilla Mrozowska of the Jagiellonian
University in Cracow; Professor Luis de Oliveira Ramos of Oporto Uni-
versity; Professor Mariano Peset Reig of Valencia University; and Pro-
fessor Grigory Tishkin of the (then) Leningrad State Institute of Culture.
But, above all, we thank the secretary general, Andris Barblan, and the
deputy secretary general, Alison de Puymége—Browning, of the Standing
Conference of Rectors, Presidents, and Vice-Chancellors of the European
Universities (CRE); it is they who, with tireless devotion and alertness,
made possible the harmonious — indeed friendly — cooperation between
so many European scholars.

XXV

PART I

THEMES AND PATTERNS

CHAPTER 1

THEMES

WALTER RUEGG

INTRODUCTION

The first part of each of the volumes of The History of the University
in Europe is intended to offer the reader a conspectus — a sort of bird’s
eye view — of the university landscape for each respective period. Once
that is done, the topical chapters, each with its own particular focus,
should serve to give the reader a better understanding of the details. The
opening chapter is not intended to anticipate the topical chapters. In this
volume, for example, it does not attempt to summarize the historical
framework of the Reformation and Counter-Reformation and the move-
ment of the absolute monarchies towards the French Revolution. As in
the first volume, it calls attention to certain themes as they emerge in
the course of the development of the universities; it aims to lay bare
their preconditions, just as in archaeology the aerial photography of a
landscape is used to lay bare its deeper configuration before one begins
the work of excavation. The second chapter then shows in concrete
detail the features of the university landscape in all its institutional mani-
festations; it places in a broad perspective the geographical expansion
and distribution of universities between 1500 and 1800.

One theme which runs throughout the entire volume is the significance
of humanism in the process of differentiation undergone by the universit-
ies; it is visible in the curricula as well as in the various schools of
thought which affected the universities; it is related to the emergence of
new centres of intellectual gravity, to the relative attractive power of
certain universities, and to the migrations of university teachers and stu-
dents. This is followed up in detail in the individual chapters.

But what underlay the diverse effects of humanism? Was it only an
outcome of the profusion of the newly discovered ancient theological,
jurisprudential, medical, philosophical and historical texts which so

Walter Riiegg

greatly broadened the range of knowledge and which made correspond-
ing demands on higher education? The encyclopaedic view of education,
science and scholarship which also pervaded the mathematical and natu-
ral sciences does not, however, explain how the impact of humanistic
education led to new discoveries, and indeed to revolution, in the sci-
ences, as in the cases of Copernicus in astronomy and Vesalius in anat-
omy. Did these occur because of or in spite of humanism?

There is a second theme which marks the history of universities
between 1500 and 1800. This is the fragmentation of the political world
along the lines separating ecclesiastical confessions and territorial princi-
palities. This fragmentation brought in its train an unending sequence
of persecutions and wars. How was it possible under these circumstances
for a European republic of learning to maintain itself and even to extend
and deepen itself?

It is true that the medieval Occident was far from attaining a perfect
intellectual unity. Nevertheless, a certain measure of unity in the aca-
demic world was fostered by papal authority which guaranteed the uni-
versal right to teach — the licentia ubique docendi; it was also fostered by
the uniformity of the scholastic methods of teaching and by the effective
functioning of the Universities of Paris and Bologna as models for newer
and lesser universities. But when these factors ceased to exist, as they
did in early modern Europe, what was it that held the European republic
of learning together?

As indicated in the Foreword, the social role of the university is the
fundamental theme of all four volumes of our work. Did the European
universities neglect their obligations to their respective societies, and
were they crippled by internal crises at the very moment when their
contributions to society were most urgently demanded? This argument,
to which earlier reference has been made, of the ‘best historians of univ-
ersities’, has been out of date for a decade. H. A. Oberman, who cites
those views, has pointed out that it is impossible to speak of crises in
the universities of the German Empire before the Thirty Years War; he
says that, on the contrary, ever since the Councils, ‘the new class of civil
servants, the doctores, had been riding high’. Following the pattern set
by a later opponent, Dr Eck, professor and vice-chancellor of the Univer-
sity of Ingolstadt, Martin Luther claimed the right, as a doctor of the-
ology, to a free discussion of the critical theses about the church; in this
claim, he was supported by his University of Wittenberg and its auth-
ority, the Elector Frederick the Wise, not as an individual but as a dis-
tinguished member of the university.’

' H. A. Oberman, ‘University and Society on the Threshold of Modern Times: the German

Connection’, in J. M. Kittelson and P. J. Transue (eds.), Rebirth, Reform and Resilience:
Universities in Transition 1300-1700 (Columbus, Ohio, 1984), 30-5.

Themes

The Reformation, because of the suspension of ecclesiastical privileges
and benefits, led at first to a drastic diminution in the numbers of
students; there then occurred a striking expansion in attendance at the
universities. Why were universities so important for princes and munici-
palities that they created new universities of their own, to the extent
that they had sufficient financial resources? What did they expect of the
universities, and to what extent did the universities satisfy these
expectations?

This chapter argues that the three phenomena of humanism, the
republic of learning and the social role of the universities can be traced
back to a common source. This common source is the changed concep-
tion of time and the world and the parallel change in the image which
humanistically educated intellectuals had of their own professional role
and of their powers and obligations in society. This change originated
in Italian humanism and it influenced the universities throughout Europe
in early modern times.

The emergence of humanism was treated in the epilogue to the first
volume. It is against that background that the humanistic sources of the
development of universities in early modern times can be briefly sketched
in the present volume.

The changed sense of time was manifested first in the belief that a
new epoch had begun and that the present was disjunctively different
from Antiquity and the Middle Ages. The present ceased to be regarded
as the final stage of the history of the world here below, but as a moment
of transition between two epochs.

This period of transition from one epoch to the next was defined by
means of — very variegated — historical facts and dates, such as the poetry
of Dante and Petrarch, the invention of printing, the fall of Constantino-
ple in 1453 and the discovery of America in 1492. The past as the Jocus
of human action was subjected to historical criticism. An attempt was
made to describe as accurately as possible and to locate by precise dates
the biographies of ancient individuals and complex past events. Univer-
sity teachers uncovered forgeries like that of the ‘donation of Con-
stantine’ of ecclesiastical properties.

Last but not least, the sense of transition from one epoch to another
made meaningful the idea of a secular future, which individual curiosity
and concern could explore horizontally, without regard to the world
beyond, and thereby create a wide perspective. History was not yet seen
as an embodiment of the idea of progress. Nevertheless, following the
discovery of America, ‘new’ became a crucial term for scientists and
scholars, who proudly pointed to the ‘newness’ of their discoveries and
their writings in which the discoveries were described. In referring to
these, they distinguished them from ‘older’ discoveries and works. This

Walter Riiegg

represented a change from traditional normative criteria, which were
based on the authority of the past as such, to a criterion which was
compatible with the possibility of new and valuable discoveries in the
future. A desire for novelty, restlessness, a yearning for fame, all of
which had not been regarded as virtues by scholastic ethics, were coming
to be more highly regarded in the universities than the old virtues of
repose, contemplation and self-restraint.

It was not only time as a dimension of human action that acquired a
new significance. The world as the scene of human action became an
object of scientific and scholarly curiosity and exertion. This was not
something which happened only after the discovery of America. The
discovery of America was preceded by other sea-voyages and by the
occasional travels of merchants to East Asia. Oral reports on travels
were recorded in Latin and were thereby made available to an inter-
national public including the international world of learning. Around
the middle of the fifteenth century, humanistic scholars began to bring
together geographical and historical facts about the land and inhabitants
of neighbouring countries, as well as about those remote countries of
which previously only the names had been known. This was done partly
from books and partly from the reports of first-hand observations con-
tained in travel accounts. Cosmographies and descriptions of the world
were among the products of the humanistic efforts. Together with car-
tography, these works played a significant role in the preparation and
carrying out of voyages of discovery.

The voyages of discovery were soon brought to the attention of the
universities, and they led no less rapidly to the conclusion that the tra-
ditional views of the shape and inhabitability of the earth had to be
discarded. The conquests of the peoples of America and the attempts to
convert them to Christianity gave rise to discussions by academics about
the rights of whole peoples and of human beings as individuals. The
discoveries entered more slowly into the syllabuses of university teach-
ing. But these syllabuses too expressed some awareness that there was
something new to be learned about the world which had hitherto been
thought to be exhaustively known. The frontispiece of Francis Bacon’s
Instauratio magna and its Novum organum shows ships passing through
the Pillars of Hercules into the open sea. Beneath the engraving is the
epigraph: multi pertransibunt et augebitur scientia (‘many will traverse
and knowledge will be increased’).*

The image of the voyage beyond the boundaries of the known
expressed the new dynamic understanding of scientific knowledge. In

? [Tllustration in: A. Grafton, with A. Shelford and N. Siraisi, New Worlds, Ancient Texts.

The Power of Tradition and the Shock of Discovery (Cambridge, Mass., 1992), 199.
This work gives the newest survey and bibliography on discoveries.

Themes

the famous metaphor of Bernard of Chartres (died c. 1130), the medieval
scientists and scholars were said to be standing on the shoulders of the
ancients, and were thus able to see further than the latter. In their dia-
logue with the ancients and in their discussions among themselves, the
humanists introduced a new — personal — element into the process of
growth of scientific and scholarly knowledge and, in so doing, they rela-
tivized it somewhat. In the sixteenth century, science and scholarship
began to be conducted like a voyage of discovery. For the preparation,
the auxiliary procedures and devices, and the general direction of the
investigation they were dependent on the current state of technological
and scientific knowledge. Nevertheless, it was clearly understood that
the increase in scholarly and scientific knowledge lay in the discovery
and exploration of new horizons.

This new attitude changed the role of the scholar. As early as 1518,
a French statesman placed friendship between humanistic scholars above
their loyalty to their respective countries, and there was no lack in later
years of famous university teachers who accorded a higher place to their
obligations to science than to their ecclesiastical attachments. It is certain
that their conformity in matters of dogma was closely scrutinized, and
heretical scholars were burned in Calvin’s Geneva, as they were in papal
Rome. Even as late as the eighteenth century, such an illustrious univer-
sity teacher as Immanuel Kant was reproved by the Prussian superin-
tendent for his unorthodox ideas. Nevertheless, the trials of heretics and
the actions of the censors could not stop the advance of knowledge. One
of the important reasons for this was — as the legend on the frontispieces
of Bacon’s work said — ‘many’ were ready to press forward beyond the
boundaries of the already known. The scientific investigation of the
world became the task and the raison d’étre for the republic of learning,
which transcended the boundaries of nationalities, principalities and
religious communities. The international republic of learning did not, as
did the medieval university, rest on the universal authority of the church.
It rested rather on a new form of communication, the dialogue through
which shared questions could be discussed from diverse standpoints. It
penetrated into the mode of teaching in advanced secondary schools
and universities, just as it came to predominate in the oral and written
communication of the learned with each other and in the interchange
of town and gown.

In the course of this change, the social role of scientific and scholarly
knowledge, and with it the university as still the most important locus
for the discovery and transmission of this new knowledge, also changed.
Much more so than during the Middle Ages, the universities of early
modern times attended to the demands of their respective societies. It is
of course true that the graduates of the medieval universities often

Walter Riiegg

entered into the services of the ecclesiastical and earthly powers, but the
vita contemplativa remained the dominant ideal of the medieval univer-
sity. Under the dominion of humanism, the university teacher placed
himself at the service of the vita activa, the life of practical action in
society, to such an extent that the teachings of Justus Lipsius, professor
in Leiden and Louvain, on the ancient Roman art of government and
on Roman military techniques, were applied in practice by rulers and
military men alike.

One result of this was the heightened self-confidence of university pro-
fessors. They came to regard themselves not only as the teachers of their
pupils but as the teachers of the elites of their societies as well. Intellec-
tual training was no longer intended to provide for the training of uni-
versity teachers to the same extent as it had done in the Middle Ages;°
it was intended to a greater extent than ever before to form the minds
of the wide circle of elites of the larger society. The universities therewith
acquired the important task of preparing the literati, the letadros or
‘gentlemen’ to live and act in society in accordance with the norms of
‘civility’, ‘civilization’ or ‘culture’. This education consisted of dialogue
with ancient forerunners, ancient models of thought and ancient forms
of art. The more absolute these were taken to be, the more at odds they
were with social reality. It was not the neglect of their social obligations
but rather the excessively one-sided attention to the vita activa that led
to the ossification of humanism, to the disintegration of the European
reputation for learning, and to the challenges facing the universities of
the eighteenth century — all of which will be treated in the next chapters.

HISTORICAL TURNING POINTS

‘O saéculum! o litterae! iuvat vivere; etsi quiescere nondum iuvat, Bilib-
alde! vigent studia, florent ingenia, Heus tu, accipe laqueum, barbaries,
exilium prospice!’ (Oh century! Oh knowledge! It is a joy to be alive;
but one must not relax, Willibald! Fields of knowledge are flourishing,
spirits are stirring, You, barbarism, get a rope and prepare yourself for
exile!) With this famous invocation, the assertive humanist, Ulrich von
Hutten (1488-1523), concluded in 1518 his autobiographical report to
the Nuremberg councillor, Willibald Pirckheimer.*

As was shown in the Epilogue to the first volume, Italian humanists
as early as the fourteenth century saw their own times as marking a
sharp break from the Middle Ages. Between 1450 and 1550, this epochal
self—consciousness became more pronounced. The Florentine philos-
opher Marsilius Ficino (1433-99), who had hitherto been regarded as
> J. Le Goff, Les Intellectuels du Moyen Age (Paris, 1957), 4.

“ U. von Hutten, ‘Epistola vitae suae rationem exponens’, H. Scheible and D. Wuttke
(eds.), Willibald Pirckheimers Briefwechsel, vol. 1 (Munich, 1989), 400-25.

Themes

the ‘head of the Platonic Academy’, but who, in the light of most recent
research has become a figure of the history of universities,’ felt himself
to be living in a new golden age. In this age, poetry and oratory, painting
and sculpture, architecture and music emerged once more as Platonic
philosophy was rediscovered, astronomy was brought to perfection, and
in Germany, the cutting tools were found for type to print books.° These
were the innovations in intellectual life:’ humanism, which entered upon
new paths not only in the human sciences but also in the natural sci-
ences; the enrichment of philosophical thought by the discovery of Pla-
to’s original writings; and the printing of books, which revolutionized
the expansion of the written word and its influence within and outside
the universities.

The humanistic university teacher, Aldus Manutius (1452-1515),
changed professions in 1494 and became a book printer and publisher.
In the same year, the French king Charles VIII, thanks to his artillery,
penetrated into Italy, encountering scarcely any resistance, as far as
Naples. The Italian state system collapsed, which for many contempor-
aries — as well as for many later historians — marked a new epoch in the
European struggle for power. Humanism by the sixteenth century moved
from being an Italian phenomenon into being a European movement.®
In this process Aldus’s Venetian publishing firm played an important
role. He created a library which was not confined by walls, as the great
libraries of the past had been, but instead could reach into the entire
world, as Erasmus of Rotterdam wrote in 1508 in his annotated collec-
tion of proverbs, Adagia. Thomas More, who was a close friend of
Erasmus, wrote in his Utopia (published in 1516), that of all the achieve-
ments of European culture, only the works of Greek poets, historians
and physicians in the ‘bejewelled letters of Aldus’, i.e., as printed books,
were allowed entry into the ideal state of ‘Utopia’.’

In assimilating humanism, northern Europe also acquired its epochal
self-consciousness. Philip Melanchthon, who was Luther’s main support
in educational and philosophical matters and his successor as the head

° J. Hankins, ‘The Myth of the Platonic Academy of Florence’, Renaissance Quarterly,
44-3 (1991), 429-75 proves convincingly that Ficino was not the head of a ‘Platonic
Academy’, but temporarily head of a — private — gymnasium and university professor.
For both education institutions the humanists used — as will be shown in chapter 2 -
the word academia. The reference to Ficino’s ‘Platonic Academy’ in vol. 1, 451, is
superseded.

E. Garin, ‘Die Kultur der Renaissance’, in G. Mann and A. Heuss (eds.), Propylaen
Weltgeschichte, vol. vi (Frankfurt-on-Main/Berlin/Vienna, 1964), 468.

See chapters I1 to 14.

As indicated in the epilogue to the first volume.

M. Mann Phillips, Erasmus on his Times, a Shortened Version of the ‘Adages’ of
Erasmus (Cambridge, 1967), 10; T. More, Utopia, ed. P. Turner (London, 1965), 100
quoted by M. Lowry, The World of Aldus Manutius. Business and Scholarship in
Renaissance Venice (Oxford, 1979), 258.

oOo oO N

Walter Riiegg

of German Protestantism, acknowledged, in 1518, in his inaugural lec-
ture at the University of Wittenberg, the exertions of the Benedictine
monasteries of the Carolingian period and of the twelfth century on
behalf of ancient authors. He added that, after 1200, poor translations
of Aristotle and the scholastic controversies which these instigated
deformed the universities, the churches and morals. As the main objec-
tive of humanistic university reform, the 21-year-old professor insisted
on a return to the sources of poetry, of sciences and theology. Thus, one
would go back to the very substance of things themselves, in theology,
directly to the wisdom of Jesus Christ.’° In his lecture on the opening
of the newly founded higher humanistic school in Nuremberg in 1526,
Melanchthon attributed to Florence the virtue not only of welcoming
those scholars who fled from Constantinople but also of providing hand-
some salaries for them as professors of Greek. Florence was to be
thanked for having saved the Greek language from dying out and for
having aroused the honestae artes, the honourable sciences, to enter
upon a new life. The new educational movement radiated in all direc-
tions from Florence and led to the development of vernacular languages,
the improvement of municipal laws and the purification of religion.”

Melanchthon’s concept of an epoch is very interesting from many dif-
ferent angles. For him, the new age began with the conquest of Con-
stantinople by the Turks in 1453, and this is the date which has been
assigned until recently by many historians as the end of the Middle Ages.
The novelty of humanism, for Melanchthon — as it was for the German
neo-humanists of the nineteenth century — lay in the study of Greek, the
return to the sources, ad fontes. The humanistic educational reform,
according to Melanchthon, had practical effects on the national linguis-
tic culture, on civil order and on the Reformation.””

Petrus Ramus (Pierre de la Ramée, 1515-72), whose philosophical
and pedagogical works were a succés fou, above all in the universities
influenced by Calvinism,’ in his lecture at the opening of his career as

0 P. Melanchthon, ‘Sermo habitus apud iuventutem Academiae Witebergensis de corri-
gendis adolescentiae studiis’, in R. Niirnberger (ed.), Melanchthons Werke in Auswahl,
vol. mr (Giitersloh, 1961), 32-40.

" P, Melanchthon, ‘Oratio... in laudem novae scholae habita Noribergae in corona doc-
tissimorum virorum et totius ferme Senatus’, in Niirnberger (ed.), Melanchthons Werke
(note 10), 67.

12 These themes are dealt with in chapters 2 and 3.

‘3 A. Grafton and L. Jardine, From Humanism to the Humanities. Education and the
Liberal Arts in Fifteenth- and Sixteenth-Century Europe (Cambridge, Mass., 1986),
162; W. J. Ong, SJ, Ramus, Method, and the Decay of Dialogue. From the Art of
Discourse to the Art of Reason (Cambridge, Mass., 1958; 2nd edn, 1983), 295, men-
tions about 800 ‘editions and adaptations of Ramus’ and Talon’s [his pupil] ‘own works
(some 1100 if one numbers separately individual works appearing in collections) and
those of nearly 400 Ramist educators and public figures’.

Themes

a teacher at the Collége de Presles in Paris, declared that there had been
a radical break between the old and new universities, in the following
image:

Let us imagine a teacher of a university who died a hundred years ago,
and had now returned among us. If he compared the efflorescence of the
humanistic disciplines and the sciences of nature in France, Italy and Eng-
land as they developed since his death, he would be shaken and astonished
when he compared his own age with the present. He knew only human
beings who spoke in a crude barbarian manner. Now he sees countless
persons of all ages who speak and write Latin with elegance. As regards
Greek, he would have repeatedly heard the usage: “That is Greek, that is
unintelligible.” Now, he would not only hear Greek being read with the
greatest of ease but he would encounter scholars who would be able to
teach this language with the greatest expertise. And how could one com-
pare the darkness which once covered all the arts with the light and the
brilliance of today? Of the grammarians, the poets and the orators only
Alexander of Villedieu and works like Facetus and Graecismus," in philos-
ophy only Scotus and the Spaniards, in medicine the Arabs, in theology
there were few, one does not know where they came from. Now, he would
hear Terence, Caesar, Virgil, Cicero, Aristotle, Plato, Galen, Hippocrates,
Moses, the prophets, the apostles and the other true annunciators of the
gospel and he would hear them speaking in their own languages. How
could he not be astonished? It is almost as if he raised his eyes from the
depth of the earth to the heavens and saw for the first time the sun, the
moon and the stars."°

For the French humanist the correct cultivation of language was the
heart of the new educational movement. He was also repeating the preju-
dice of his Italian predecessors. He said that, in the medieval universities,
language was raw and barbarous; scholastic textbooks darkened the
intellect. It was through reading the ancient and biblical writings in the
original languages that light was brought into university education.

In contrast with Melanchthon, Ramus -— like the Italian humanists —
was not primarily concerned with the intellectual substance of what was
transmitted from the Greek sources but rather with dialogue with the
pagan and biblical authors of Latin and Greek Antiquity; because, in
the humanistic university, these could be ‘heard speaking — and, what
is more, in their own languages’.

In the concluding sentence of his comparison, Ramus invoked Plato’s
image of the cave, without, however, accepting its meaning. It is not the
strenuous avoidance of human opinions and the turning towards the

4 See volume I, 312, 344.
1S P. Ramus, ‘Oratio de studiis philosophiae et eloquentiae conjugendis Lutetia habita
anno 1564’, in P. Rami et Audomari Talei collectaneae prefationes, epistolae, orationes

(Paris, 1577), 305.

Walter Riiegg

apprehension of pure ideas that constituted the humanistic educational
programme. A plan for courses of study, promulgated by Ramus in
1550, would lead the students step by step to analysing what had been
learned and then to applying it in their own intellectual activities.
‘Refinement and elegance of speech, the acuteness of reason, adroitness
in mathematics and geometry, knowledge of the heavens and the whole
world will be brought together in order to form the soul, to give it a
pattern, to set it firmly, to render it elegant and perfect’ — all this was
not to be sought just for its own sake but for the sake of universal
knowledge, the completum quendam velut orbem doctrinae translated
into responsible public conduct.*®

In 1550, ‘knowledge of the whole world’ included the ‘new world’
which had become available in translations of Amerigo Vespucci’s
Mundus novus, published in 1503 and available in Latin, German,
Dutch and Czech editions.’’ In 1545, the French physician, Jean Fernel
d’Amiens, in his De abditis rerum causis (The Hidden Causes of Things),
characterized the new age by the circumnavigations of the earth (by
Magellan, 1519-21), the discovery of new continents, the invention of
book printing and of firearms, the rediscovery of ancient books and the
restoration of the sciences.'® The Spanish chronicler, Lopez de Gémara,
said in 1552 that the discovery of America in 1492 was ‘the greatest
event since the creation of the world except for the incarnation and the
sacrificial death of our Saviour’.'? Many historians have regarded the
discovery of America in the year of 1492 as the beginning of modern
history.”°

From 1508 onwards, ‘knowledge of the heavens’, particularly through
the De orbium coelestium revolutionibus of Copernicus, published in
Nuremberg in 1543, extended the heliocentric representation of the
rotation of the earth in the orbit of the planets and the fixed stars. Of
course, the new astronomy was rejected as ‘unbiblical’ by Luther as early
as 1538 or it remained largely unnoticed, even by the Roman Catholic
Church, which placed it on the Index only in 1616.*'

‘© P. Ramus, ‘Pro philosophica parisiensis academiae disciplina oratio’ (Paris, 1557), in
P. Rami et Audomari (note 15), 307-401.

” DPD. Beers Quinn, ‘New Geographical Horizons: Literature’, in F. Chiapelli (ed.), First
Images of America. The Impact of the New World on the Old, vol. 1 (Berkeley, Calif./
Los Angeles, Calif./London, 1976), 639ff.

8 Garin, ‘Kultur der Renaissance’ (note 6), 474.

19 R. Konetzke, Uberseeische Entdeckungen und Eroberungen, in Mann and Heuss (eds.),
Propylaen Weltgeschichte (note 6), 537.

20 G. R. Potter (ed.), The Renaissance 1493-1520, The New Cambridge Modern History,
vol. 1 (Cambridge, 1957; new edn, 1975).

71 1H. Binder Johnson, ‘New Geographical Horizons: Concepts’, in Chiapelli (ed.), First
Images (note 17), vol. 11, 617-18. The discussion of the Florentine Dominican Tolosani
(1470-1549) with Copernicus was not published until E. Garin, ‘Alle origini della pol-

Themes

The plundering of Rome in 1527 was regarded by contemporaries as
a decisive event. For the Italian humanists, this brought the golden age
of the Renaissance to an end; north European theologians and poets saw
it as a divine judgement.” Last but not least, Luther’s posting of his
theses on 31 October 1517 has been regarded by Protestant historians
as the moment of birth not only of the Reformation but of modern times
as such.

Nowadays, historians in general try to avoid such precise dates for
the beginnings and the ends of epochs. As the instances mentioned above
show, they refer only to partial aspects of historical change.”* There is
rather a preference for the use of expressions like ‘historical turning-
points’** or ‘the changing tendencies of the age’ to characterize the con-
tinuously flowing transitions in the course of which significant changes
occur.

In general, it is recognized today that the transition from the ‘Middle
Ages’ to ‘modern times’ is a continuous rather than a disjunctive pro-
cess.2> Much of what is regarded as ‘modern’, such as, for example,
rational economic and political thought, individual self-consciousness,
deliberate recourse to ancient knowledge, has its roots in the Middle
Ages. At the same time, the conception of what was regarded as ‘mediev-
al’ also underwent considerable changes; most historians agree that
scholasticism, the Inquisition, superstition, the division of society into
lords and serfs, the political and ecclesiastical forms of authority, the
hygienic, material and social conditions of life of the largely rural popu-
lation were decisively changed only through the ‘revolutions’ of the sev-
enteenth and eighteenth centuries: the ‘scientific revolution’ from Coper-
nicus (1523) to Newton (1666), the ‘industrial revolution’ with the
introduction of new sources of energy beginning with the steam engine
in 1769, and the political revolutions of the United States in 1776 and
of France in 1789. The structures of medieval universities, too, scarcely
changed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In the article on
‘Université’ (1764) in his Dictionnaire philosophique, Voltaire described
the university as an institution confined by scholasticism. In France, the

emica anticopernicana’, in E. Garin, Rinascite e rivoluzini. Movimenti culturali dal XIV
al XVIII secolo, 2nd edn (Bari, 1990), 283-95.

2 D. Cantimori, ‘Reason, Unreason and Faith’, in D. Hay (ed.), The Renaissance (London,
1967), 158.

23 On periodization see: N. Hammerstein, ‘Bildungsgeschichtliche Traditionszusammen-
hange zwischen Mittelalter und friiher Neuzeit’, in Der Ubergang zur Neuzeit und die
Wirkung von Traditionen (Gottingen, 1978), 32-54.

24 L. von Muralt, ‘Das Zeitalter der Renaissance’, in W. Andreas (ed.), Die Neue Pro-
pylaen-Weltgeschichte, vol. m (Berlin, 1941), 3.

25 P. von Moos, ‘Das 12. Jahrhundert — eine “‘Renaissance” oder ein ‘“‘Aufklarungszeital-
ter’?’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 23 (1988), 9.

Walter Riiegg

university disappeared with the other institutions of the ancien régime
in the course of the French Revolution.

The idea of ‘historical turning points’ suggests, however, that between
1450 and 1550 decisive changes occurred. This was experienced not
only by persons living in those times, as is evident from the testimony
which we have cited previously. It is also recognized by contemporary
historians.*° Five features of these changes affected the history of univer-
sities: the ‘new revolutionary dimension’ which Europe had acquired
through the Atlantic voyages of Columbus and Vasco da Gama, the
historic opening of Europe to the world, the new forms of communi-
cation and the formation of ‘a new cultural self-consciousness’,”’ the
humanistic permeation and ossification of dynastic and confessionally
bounded universities.

DESIRE FOR AND OPENNESS TO DISCOVERIES

What was the significance of the discovery of the New World for the
universities in Europe? The new disciplines of cartography, hydrography
and navigational techniques, which were a response to these great
events, developed outside the universities.** Nevertheless, the universities
certainly did respond to them. The encounter with the aboriginal inhabi-
tants of Central and South America and the development of inter-
national law became subjects of university teaching.*” How does it
happen that this obviously modest penetration of ‘new revolutionary
dimensions’ into the universities occurred?

In the body of literature used by Columbus there was, in addition
to the writings of Ptolemy and other ancient authors, a work of the
humanistic pope Pius II (1405-64) on Asia, as well as maps and
letters of the Florentine humanist, physician and mathematician Paolo
dal Pozzo Toscanelli (1397-1482).*° Its conception of the geography of

26 N. Hammerstein, ‘ ‘“‘Klassik’’ im Blick auf die Geschichte der Universitaten und Wissen-
schaften?’, in W. Vosskamp (ed.), Klassik im Vergleich. Normativitat und Historizitat
europdischer Klassiken, DFG-Symposion, (Stuttgart/Weimar, 1993), 594: ‘[Es] lasst sich
also — grob gesprochen — um 1500 gleichsam ein neuer Abschnitt der Universitatsge-
schichte ansetzen.’

F. Braudel, L’Europe (Paris, 1982), 142. E. Hassinger, Das Werden des neuzeitlichen
Europa 1300-1600, 2nd edn (Braunschweig, 1964), ixx.

See chapter I1, pp. 464-70.

See chapter 14, p. 602; cf. p. 576, which mentions a professor of rhetoric at the Univer-
sity of Caen who lectured on the French expedition to Canada.

D. B. Quinn, ‘The Italian Renaissance and Columbus’, Renaissance Studies, 6.3-4
(1992), 355-6 ends with: ‘I am inclined to say that without the intellectual and practical
achievements of the Italian Renaissance Columbus’ venture would never have taken
place.’

2
29

Themes

East Asia was based on the reports of the commercial traveller Niccol6
de Conti (1397-1469) from Chioggia, near Venice, which had been
edited in Latin by the humanist Poggio Bracciolini (1380-1459) and
were very widely distributed.*’ The three humanists of the Italian
Quattrocento who were active outside the universities represented the
three tendencies which became more prominent in the universities of the
sixteenth century: openness to novelty, science as an instrument of con-
trol over nature, and the cosmographic ordering of new and old
knowledge.

Curiositas had counted among the non-virtues in the medieval hier-
archy of values. From Petrarch (1304-74) onward, curiosity, restless-
ness, capacity for persistence — values which were evidenced in
journeys — appeared alongside the traditional virtues of peacefulness,
self-restraint and contemplation.*” After the discovery of America, ‘new’
became a very prominent word. It is true that Columbus believed that
he only discovered a shorter route to India, and that, during the course
of it, he had discovered a few hitherto unknown islands. However,
already in November of 1493, Peter Martyr referred to him as novi orbis
repertor (discoverer of a new world). Pietro Martire d’Anghiera (1457-
1526) himself represented a new type of unstable scholar, eager for nov-
elty and at the same time conscientiously recording all such novelties.
As an Italian humanist, he was brought to Spain in 1485 by a Spanish
grandee, lectured at the University of Salamanca on the Roman satirist
Juvenal, fought as a soldier against the Moors and, after the fall of Gran-
ada in 1492, he was active as a teacher and secretary of the ‘Indian
Council’ at the Spanish court, so that all reports of the discoveries came
into his hands and he was in a position to publish them as contemporary
documents with the partial support of his friend, the humanistic pro-
fessor Antonio de Nebrija (1444-1522). He idealized the Indians and
their modes of conduct and he constantly put forward comparisons with
ancient mythology, indeed with the golden age, but at the same time he
pointed with pride to the novelty and grandeur of the discoveries, ‘in
comparison with which the deeds of Saturn and Hercules appear
insignificant’.*°

‘New’ here meant what was unknown to the ancients. ‘Novelty is
pleasing to everyone.’ So it was insisted in 1507 in the ‘foreword to the

31_'V. M. Godinho, Mito e mercadoria, Utopia e pratica de navigar, séculos XIII-XVIII
(Lisbon, 1990), 160, 172, 286.

2 C. Trinkaus, ‘Renaissance and Discovery’, in Chiapelli (ed.), First Images (note 17),
vol. 1, 6-8.

33 Quoted by J. N. H. Lawrance, ‘Humanism in the Iberian Peninsula’, in A. Goodman
and A. MacKay (eds.), The Impact of Humanism on Western Europe (London/New
York, 1990), 255.

Walter Riiegg

reader’ of the Cosmographiae introductio.** The work contains far more
that was novel than the foreword promised; in it, for the first time, the
name ‘America’ is proposed for the New World (South America). As
will be shown later on, the information about the New World penetrated
only slowly into the universities. But the idea of the ‘new’ changed the
content as well as the mode of scholarly communication, first outside
the universities and then between them. Soon it was not only the newly
discovered islands and parts of the earth which were being referred to
as new, but also the reports on their discovery. Cortes’s report about
his conquest of the Aztec Empire in Mexico in 1521 was presented as
a ‘newe Zeittung’; indeed, it was also published, together with those of
Columbus and Magellan, as Ein schéne newe Zeytung (‘A Splendid New
Chronicle’).*°

The novelty of one’s own knowledge and productions vis-a-vis those
of the ancients was proclaimed by university teachers and other scholars
well into the eighteenth century in titles of well-known works, like Nova
de universis philosophia (1591) written by the Roman professor of phil-
osophy, Francesco Patrizi (1529-97), the Nova methodus (1684) by
Leibniz (1646-1716), or the Scienza nuova (1725) by the Neapolitan
professor of rhetoric, Giambattista Vico (1668-1744). The extent to
which the new disciplines were brought into connection with voyages
of discovery may be seen in the boat which appears in the title-page
mentioned above of Bacon’s Novum organum (1620) which is moving
past the Pillars of Hercules into the open sea; the same points are made
in the title of his New Atlantis (1624).

To spread innovations among the learned had been, ever since
Petrarch, the aim of letters written by humanists which were intended
to be reproduced and published. In 1665 this device was expanded by
the creation of scholarly and scientific journals, the Journal des scavans
in France, the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society in Eng-
land. Sometimes the very titles of these publications referred to inno-
vations: for example, the Nouvelles de la république des lettres, founded
in 1684 for the criticism of all antiquated knowledge by Pierre Bayle
(1647-1706), when he was professor of philosophy in Rotterdam. In
Germany the first scholarly journal, the Acta eruditorum Lipsiensium,
was founded in 1682 by Otto Mencke (1644-1707), professor of moral
philosophy at the University of Leipzig. His son Johann Bernhard

34 Quoted by D. Wuttke, ‘Humanismus in den deutschsprachigen Landern und
Entdeckungsgeschichte 1493-1534’, Pirckheimer-Jahrbuch, 7 (1992). The Cosmogra-
phiae introductio was published under the alleged authorship of Waldseemiiller; the
text was in fact the work of the Alsatian humanist Ringmann.

3° R. Hirsch, ‘Printed Reports on the Early Discoveries and Their Reception’, in Chiapelli
(ed.), First Images (note 17), vol. 1, 557, Appendix nos. 102, 103.

Themes

Mencke (1674-1732), professor of history at the same university, con-
tinued the publication of the Acta and founded in 1715 a vernacular
journal, Neue Zeitungen von gelebrten Sachen. In 1702 a professor of
the University of Halle, Nicolas Gundling (1671-1729), had already
published a journal in the vernacular but without mentioning his own
name: Neue Unterredungen, darinnen sowohl schertz- als ernsthaft tiber
allerhand gelebrte und ungelebrte Biicher und Fragen freymiitig und
unpartheyisch raisonniert wird, vorgestellet von P.S.Q. In the eighteenth
century, universities began to publish their own journals.”

SCIENCE AS A MEANS OF CONTROL OVER NATURE

The sciences were new not only with respect to the substance of knowl-
edge but also with respect to a feature emphasized by Bacon, namely,
their use as instruments for the control over nature. Scientific research
was no longer a striving for theoretical contemplative knowledge; it was
rather the vita activa, the practical life, which was the educational ideal
of the studia humanitatis. It included linguistic and moral education as
well as mathematical training; this was contained in Ramée’s edu-
cational programme, which was also intended to deal with ‘knowledge
of the heavens and the entire world’. This was personified in the second
of the scientific forerunners of Columbus: the Florentine physician,
Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli. In 1474, he wrote a letter to Martinus de
Roriz, who was the father confessor of the Portuguese king Alfonso V.
In it he cited a map of the ocean which had been sent to the king and
recommended the shorter western route to the treasures of East Asia.
Columbus must have known about this letter, since it was found as
an appendix to a copy of Pius II’s work Asia, annotated by Columbus
himself.*’

This preoccupation with geography and cartography was a secondary
interest of Toscanelli, alongside his activities as a physician, math-
ematician and astronomer. Brunelleschi acquired from Toscanelli the
mathematical knowledge which he needed for the construction of the
self-supporting cupola of the cathedral in Florence. Toscanelli corre-
sponded about difficult astronomical and mathematical problems with
Nicolas of Cusa and with the famous German astronomer, Regiomon-
tanus (Johann Miiller von KGnigsberg, 1436-76). He constructed the
largest sundial which had ever been built up to that time for the

3 Information on the journals: B. G. Struvius, Imtroductio in notitiam rei litterariae et
usum bibliothecarum, 1st edn (Jena 1704; 6th edn by I. C. Fischer; Frankfurt/Leipzig,
1754), 490, 511, $14, 523-7, 537, 549-50, 577-80.

37 E, Schmidt (ed.), Dokumente zur Geschichte der europdischen Expansion, vol. a: Die
grossen Entdeckungen (Munich, 1984), 9-11.

Walter Riiegg

cathedral, for the purpose of making astronomical calculations; he inves-
tigated meteorological phenomena, including comets, and interested
himself in astrology. The most eminent humanists of his city, the archi-
tect Alberti (1404-72), the philosopher Ficino, and the diplomat and
historian Manetti (1396-1459), declared in their writings and letters
how much they esteemed him as a fellow humanist.*®

Regiomontanus — like his teacher Peurbach — lectured at the University
of Vienna, particularly about ancient poetry. Nevertheless, he was
famous for his astronomical work. The knowledge of his Ephemeriden
saved the life of Columbus in his fourth crossing of the Atlantic in
1503. -

The problem of the ‘two cultures’ did not exist in the universities
before the eighteenth century. Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) could have
become a professor of poetry; he delivered lectures over the whole range
of the human sciences from pedagogy, anthropology and natural law,
the various fields of philosophy to geography, mathematics and astron-
omy. His first ground-breaking works of 1755 were devoted to the
emergence of the astronomical system.

Astrology was deepened in a Hermetic-Platonic direction by the Flor-
entine circle around Ficino.*° It also played a quite prominent part in
university teaching until the seventeenth century. Melanchthon, ‘the
teacher of Germany’ and intellectual head of the Protestant churches,
took seriously the occult sciences, which included the interpretation of
dreams and astrology. It was accepted that there were more things in
heaven and earth than were suggested by the wisdom of the schools;
these things required scholarly and scientific treatment, particularly in
order to make them calculable for the purposes of human action. Chris-
tian Wolff (1679-1754), who taught at the Universities of Halle and
Marburg and who was famous throughout Europe, described the goal
of the new science in a Latin motto, ad usum vitae; and he said: ‘I have
had from my earliest youth on, a deep yearning for certainty of knowl-
edge and particularly that knowledge which serves the happiness of the
human race.’**

THE BEGINNINGS OF COSMOGRAPHY

To attain, to acquire and to spread ‘certainty of knowledge’ regarding
human beings, things and events of one’s own and of foreign worlds

38 E, Garin, ‘Ritratto di Paolo dal Pozzo Toscanelli’, in E. Garin, La cultura filosofica del
Rinascimento italiano. Ricerche e documenti (Florence, 1961; 2nd edn 1979), 313-34.

3? Schmidt (ed.), Dokumente (note 37), 181.

4° The development of the Hermetic-Platonic direction in the sixteenth century is described

in chapter 12, pp. 495-7.
“1 450 Jahre Martin-Luther Universitat Halle- Wittenberg I (Halle, n.d. [1952]), vi, 33.

Themes

was the incentive which led the humanistic pope, Pius II, to promote a
historical-geographical cosmography of the entire world under the title
Historia rerum ubique gestarum locorumque descriptio. Even during the
period of the Council of Basle (1431-49), Aeneas Piccolomini, while still
a layman in the service of cardinals of the Council, never failed to use
any of his many journeys to describe the cities and countries which he
visited. Their size, their climate, their fauna and flora, the number of
their inhabitants, their agricultural and handicraft products, their build-
ings, the mode of life of their people, history, constitution, position of
the nobility and the bourgeoisie, political attitudes, academic and legal
institutions, all of this was made known to him through direct study of
texts and through informants; he reported in letters and later used it in
combination with ancient and medieval sources for the description of
European countries. As pope from 1458 to 1464 he travelled, to the
dissatisfaction of his associates, ‘restlessly and unsettledly’ throughout
Italy and through the Vatican state.** He died in Ancona before the
beginning of the planned crusade against the Turks.

Whether it was in the framework of his Turkish policy or for general
humanistic interests, in any case, as pope, he undertook a critical survey,
ordering information from earlier contemporary travel reports regarding
Asia. The work, which was intended, from the beginning, as a geo-
graphical and historical descriptive study of the countries of the entire
world, moving from east to west, remains a torso; the work which was
designated Asia nevertheless had a resounding echo, not only in circles
which had political and mercantile interests in Asia such as the Iberian
courts and among Genoese navigators. The pope paved the way for a
discipline which went beyond that of the cosmography of the ancient
geographers.

Columbus’s letter De insulis inventis, which dealt with his discoveries
in 1492, appeared in Latin in Antwerp, Rome and Basle in 1493. In
1494 Sebastian Brant (1457-1521), professor at Basle, congratulated the
king of Spain on the ‘realms discovered in the sea’. In the same year,
his satirical work, the Narrenschiff (The Ship of Fools), made him
famous far beyond the boundaries of universities. In that work he speaks
of the discoveries of islands, containing gold and naked human beings,
as the results of a curiosity which sought not only intellectual benefit.
Outside the Iberian peninsula, interest in geographical details could be
found at first only in humanistic circles, in commercial cities like Nurem-
berg and Augsburg, or in princely courts: the ‘Introduction to Cos-
mography’, produced by Waldmiiller-Ringmann, had been com-
missioned by the duke of Lorraine.*°

* G. Voigt, Enea Silvio de’ Piccolomini, als Papst Pius der Zweite, und sein Zeitalter

(Berlin, 1862), vol. 1, 302-9, 334-6.
* Wuttke, ‘Humanismus’ (note 34), 21, 27-9, 49-51.

Walter Riiegg

Between 1514 and 1517 these new kinds of knowledge were intro-
duced into academic geography by Joachim von Watt (Vadianus, 1484-
1551), poet laureate, rector of the University of Vienna and the
incumbent of the most famous humanistic professorial chair in Germ-
any: since ‘Vespucci discovered America’ and the Portuguese reached
Calcutta, the old idea that the earth was uninhabitable around the
Equator because of the heat was finally refuted and the existence in the
antipodes of inhabitable continents below the Equator was demon-
strated, contrary to the opinions of the church fathers, Lactantius and
St Augustine. Since Vadianus, who later on became a reformer, had
given up his professorship for the position of municipal physician and
alderman in his native St Gallen, his cosmographic writings had only
limited resonance, although they put forward the claim that, ‘in striving
for the truth, they would investigate and criticize doubtful traditions’.

Glareanus (1488-1563), who was professor in Basle and Freiburg,
and who was praised by Erasmus in 1517 as an unsurpassable geogra-
pher, formed a picture of the new continent between Europe and Asia,
when he constructed his map of the northern hemisphere seen from the
North Pole. His Geographia, published for the first time in 1523, became
a widely used textbook in western European universities and was repeat-
edly reprinted; it rested entirely on Ptolemy and mentioned, only at the
very end and then briefly, those countries of the West which were not
known to Ptolemy ‘which they call America’ — to which, however, Virgil,
in the sixth book of the Aeneid had referred. In 1524 Peter Apianus
(1495-1552), professor of mathematics in Ingolstadt from 1527 on,
published a Cosmographicus liber which became also a widely read text-
book and which contained a chapter on America, albeit a poor one.*

Sebastian Miinster (1489-1552), who was professor of Hebrew at the
University of Basle, was the author of a Cosmographia which ran
through forty-six editions. The title-page of the first edition of 1550
displayed, among the curiosities of the New World, a fur-coated hunts-
man and a naked woman with a cradle hanging from the branch of a
tree.*© Miinster, for geographical information regarding Ethiopia and
Lapland,*’ drew on the work of the Portuguese scholar, Damido de Gois

44 W. Naf, Vadian und seine Stadt St. Gallen, vol. 1: Bis 1518. Humanist in Wien (St
Gallen, 1944), 263-77, quotation 277.

45 On Glareanus: A. Diirst, ‘Glarean als Geograph und Mathematiker’, in R. Aschmann
et al. (eds.), Der Humanist Heinrich Loriti, genannt Glarean 1488-1563. Beitrage zu
seinem Leben und Werk (Glarus, 1983), 122-44. On Apianus: D. Briesemeister, ‘Das
Amerikabild im deutschen Friihhumanismus’, in G. Siebenmann and H.-J. Konig (eds.),
Das Bild Lateinamerikas im deutschen Sprachraum, Beihefte zur Iberoromania, 8
(Tiibingen, 1992), 97.

46 Grafton, New Worlds (note 2), 98.

47 J. Lawrance, ‘The Middle Indies: Damiado de Gois on Prester John and the Ethiopians’,
Renaissance Studies, 6: 3-4 (1992), 315.

Themes

(1502-74), who stayed for a time in Freiburg. About America he had
scarcely anything more to say than Glareanus.**

The detailed descriptions by Spanish and Portuguese chroniclers like
Oviedo y Valdés (1478-1557), José Acosta (1535-1600), Diego de
Couto (1542-1616) were taken note of by geographers also in France
and England only towards the end of the century. The extensive bibli-
ography in Jean Bodin’s Methodus ad facilem historiarum cognitionem
of 1566 mentioned only three works about the New World. In Oxford,
Richard Hakluyt, who taught geography at Christ Church from 1577
onward, provided financial subsidy for the publication in 1580 of A
shorte and briefe narration of the two navigations to Neewe France. In
1582, he published his own Divers Voyages, touching the discouerie of
America and the Ilands adiacent unto the same and in 1589, the first
volume of his famous Principal Navigations, Voyages and Discoveries
of the English Nation. In 1608, a commoner of Exeter College, Robert
Stafforde, published a world geography.*”

It was only in the seventeenth century that geography developed from
‘a description of scenery and colonies into a science’. The stimulus to
this development came largely from Bartholomaeus Keckermann (1572-
1608), professor of philosophy at Danzig, through his ‘Systeme’ of
diverse disciplines aiming at practical application.*°

The reports on various hitherto unknown plants and animals in the
New World, which were reported by the Spanish chroniclers, gradually
entered into the botanical and zoological textbooks and encyclopaedias.
Leonhard Fuchs (1501-66), professor at Tiibingen, mentioned in his
Botanik (1542) only two types of American gourds and corn. The Flem-
ish humanist and botanist, Carolus Clusius (1526-1609), described only
a few American plants in his work published in 1583.°’ After he became
professor of botany in 1589 at the University of Leiden, which had been
very recently founded, he published in 1605 an Exoticorum libri decem
with translations of works on South American and western American
plants written partly by the Portuguese philosopher and botanist Garcia
da Orta (1504-79) and in part by the Spanish physician Nicolas Mon-
ardes (d. 1583).°”

48 Johnson, ‘Concepts’ (note 21), 619.

* M. P. Gilmore, ‘The New World in French and English Historians of the Sixteenth
Century’, in Chiapelli (ed.), First Images (note 17), vol. 11, 519-23; History of Oxford
III, 716.

°° Concerning Keckermann’s ‘Systeme’ see W. Schmidt-Biggemann, Topica universalis. Eine
Modellgeschichte humanistischer und barocker Wissenschaft (Hamburg, 1985), 89-94.

51 J. Ewan, ‘The Columbian Discoveries and the Growth of Botanical Ideas with Special
Reference to the Sixteenth Century’, in Chiapelli (ed.), First Images (note 17), vol. 1, 808.

°2 G. Sarton, Six Wings. Men of Science in the Renaissance (Bloomington, Ind./London,
1957), 144.

Walter Riiegg

The fauna of the New World attracted the attention of academic
circles somewhat earlier. The encyclopaedic work of Gessner (1516-65),
professor at Zurich and a scholar of universal scope and, in even more
detail, the works of Aldrovandi (1522-1605), professor at Bologna,
summarized in word and image the state of knowledge attained in the
sixteenth century as that which could be constructed from ancient and
medieval natural histories and books of fables, and from the travel
accounts about newly discovered and rediscovered foreign countries. For
his Historia animalium, which was published between 1551 and 1558,
Gessner drew information from the whole of Europe, and he even util-
ized an alligator’s skin from Brazil in order to describe the type of Amer-
ican crocodile.°’ Nevertheless, he — like his contemporaries — took in
good faith reports about fabulous beasts as long as they came from other
scholars; he presented, for example, an account of the legendary
sea-serpent.”*

HUMAN RIGHTS AND INTERNATIONAL LAW

The discoveries had the most immediate and persisting influence on theo-
logical, philosophical and jurisprudential discussions regarding the fate
of human beings in the universe. The question as to whether aboriginals
of the conquered territories had a right to their property, and whether,
because of their deviant mores such as nudity, incest, human sacrifice
and cannibalism, they should be subjugated under the rule of their con-
querors and compelled to be converted to Christianity and to baptize
their children, led to fundamental reflections on the scope and validity
of traditional law, on the legitimacy of conquest, on the global appli-
cation of divine and natural law, and on the autonomy and the educa-
bility of individuals.

These problems were discussed in the Spanish universities on the basis
of the Bible, medieval theories of natural law, and humanistic ideas
regarding toleration. In 1539, the incumbent of the most important theo-
logical chair in Salamanca, Francisco de Vitoria (1486-1546), in the
Relectio de Indiis prior, discussed the new problems which were raised
by those newly discovered parts of the earth and which had to be solved.
He argued that Spanish dominion in the newly discovered countries was
legitimate only if it conformed with the conditions stipulated by natural
and divine law, which required that the colonizers respect the human
and property rights of the Indian, and that they show a high degree of
tolerance for alien mores as well as circumspection in their proselytizing

°3 G, Petit, ‘Conrad Gessner, Zoologiste’, in Conrad Gessner 1516-1565, Universalge-

lebrter, Naturforscher, Arzt (Zurich, 1967), 51.
4 Sarton, Six Wings (note 52), 153-6.

Themes

and civilizing activities. This corresponded to the idea proclaimed in
1537 by the pope, Paul III, in his bull Sublimis Deus. Nevertheless, mili-
tary subjugation of the natives and their exploitation and mistreatment
by the colonizers continued. In a famous controversy with Las Casas
(1474-1566), the defender of the rights of the Indians, the learned theo-
logian and tutor of Prince Philip, Sepailveda (c. 1490-1572), defended
the policy on the grounds of those rights of the Spanish crown to free,
if necessary by. force, the barbarous Indians from their inhuman customs
and to lead them to Christian faith and morals.

In contrast with Sepilveda’s notion of the superiority of European-
Spanish culture to that of the barbarous Indians, Vitoria, from a univer-
salistic postulate, argued for the individual human rights of freedom,
movement, settlement, trade and association; he also argued for citizen-
ship based on the place of birth. At the same time, he postulated certain
maxims of international law which were subsequently developed further
as a result of the tremendous educational success of de Vitoria in Spain
and then in Holland and Germany through the work of Grotius (1583-
1645), Pufendorf (1632-94) and Thomasius (1655-1728). These
maxims included the freedom of the sea, the legal status of foreign states,
limits on the exercise of military power and the rejection of a con-
queror’s absolute right of legislation.*°

The acknowledgement that ‘savages’ were human beings with the gift
of reason and the capacity for being educated left a mark on historical
thinking. In 1568, the French scholar Regius (1510-77) observed that
3,000 years ago, the inhabitants of Europe were as rude and uncivilized
as the savages recently discovered by the Spaniards and the Portuguese.
Being civilized was regarded as the same as knowing the alphabet. In
1599, the historian La Popeliniére (c. 1540-1608) wrote: ‘ne vivant a
la Sauvagine, comme tant de peuples, d’ont nous avons descouvers
partie, tant en l’Amerique que costes d’Afrique, sans lettres ny ecrits.’
The Greeks were enabled to lead a civilized social and political life, ‘au
moyen des lettres, des arts et sciences’ because the Phoenicians had pre-
viously invented writing.°® Thus, the discoveries were put into a direct
connection with the humanistic theory of culture which rested on the
Greek theories of the Sophists, according to which human beings became
civilized through the mastery of language.

°° E. Grisel, ‘The Beginnings of International Law and General Public Law Doctrine: Fran-
cisco de Vitoria’s De Indiis prior’, in Chiapelli (ed.), First Images (note 17), vol. 1, 305-
25; H. Pietschmann, ‘Aristotelischer Humanismus und Inhumanitat? Sepdlveda und die
amerikanischen Ureinwohner’, in W. Reinhard (ed.), Humanismus und Neue Welt, Mit-
teilung XV der Kommission fiir Humanismusforschung (Weinheim, 1987), 143-66.
Quoted by G. H. Huppert, ‘The Idea of Civilization in the Sixteenth Century’, in A.
Molho and J. A. Tedeschi (eds.), Renaissance Studies in Honor of Hans Baron (Florence,
1971), 763-7.

Walter Riiegg

NEW OBJECTIVES OF UNIVERSITY EDUCATION

The Ciceronian form of the dialogue, in which various points of view
or doctrines are represented by various speakers and are made concrete
through reference to personal experiences and by personal reflections,
has been called ‘one of the most successful cultural exports to northern
Europe in the sixteenth century’.’’ This view states in a somewhat differ-
ent form the assertion that humanism was not so much a rediscovery
of Antiquity as that it was a new attitude towards ancient authors. These
ceased to be regarded as eternally valid authorities but became interlocu-
tors from another time, who moved the reader emotionally and ration-
ally, gave him timelessly valid answers to his questions and problems,
and in this way permitted him to form his own cultural self-
consciousness in dialogue with the spokesmen for alien patterns of
self-understanding.”®

This had its effect on the universities. The territorial extension of dial-
ogical communication, within and between societies, following the decay
of ecclesiastical unity under papal authority, permitted the formation of
a res publica eruditorum; this, in its turn, led to the emergence of the
ideals of civility, civilization, culture as the objects of university edu-
cation. It also stimulated the universities to respond to the concerns of
their respective societies and led thereby to the formation of a national
cultural self-consciousness, and, in the case of the individual university
teachers, it fostered the growth of their collective self-consciousness as
an intellectual profession.

‘The dialogic form at this time became the preferred form of philo-
sophical discussion.’*? It permitted the confrontation of divergent
standpoints in a variety of ways. It could enable ideas which were at
variance with Christian dogma to be expressed, without the author
having to identify the idea as his own. This mode of expression made
it possible for Galileo, who had previously been professor at Pisa and
Padua and who at the time was court astronomer in Florence, to
expand the Copernican system in his Dialogo sopra due massimi
sistemi with papal permission. It is true that the dialogue concluded

°”? M. B. Becker, Civility and Society in Western Europe, 1300-1600 (Bloomington, Ind.,
1988), 12.

°° Volume I, pp. 446-50; W. Riiegg, ‘Humanistische Elitenbildung im antiken Rom und
in der europdischen Renaissance’, in S. B. Eisenstadt (ed.), Kulturen der Achsenzeit, vol.
il, Part 3: Buddhismus, Islam, Altdgypten, westliche Kultur (Frankfurt on Main, 1992),
358-84, esp. 373-7. .

°° L. Olschki, Galilei und seine Zeit, Geschichte der neusprachlichen wissenschaftlichen
Literatur, vol. m (Halle, 1927), 29, 331-404 about Galilei’s dialogue concerning the
world system.

Themes

with the victory of the Ptolemaic system. Nevertheless, Galileo, as a
humanistically trained stylist, was able to shape the scientific
discussion between the discussants and the content of the systems so
vividly that his own standpoint became clearly evident. In this case,
the dialogic form could not protect the author from condemnation
and the demand for retraction.

The form of the literary dialogue offered the possibility of correcting
the deficiency of oral argument. Giordano Bruno (1548-1600) did this,
when he had, ingloriously, to discontinue his teaching at Oxford in 1583
after three months. In London, in his dialogue La cena de la ceneri (‘Ash
Wednesday Supper’), he made the Oxford teachers ridiculous and was
able to state his own ideas so successfully that, in the two subsequent
years spent in London, he wrote five more philosophical dialogues in
Italian. It was one of these, De l’infinito, universo e monde (On the
Infinite, the Universe and the Worlds) that led to his being burnt at the
stake in 1600.

The dialogic form could also be employed in learned works. Thus, for
example, Justus Lipsius, professor of history at the University of Leiden
(1579-91) and then at the University of Louvain (1593-1606), in his
work on the military organization and military technology of the
Romans (De militia Romana), takes his point of departure in the stimu-
lus given by a young ‘listener’ who is assigned the task of putting ques-
tions and making short statements of his own to the author, and thus
leading him to a more elaborate exposition. The same role was played
by a group of friends who are civil servants in the complementary work
Poliorceticon (‘The Technology of Siege’), published in 1596.°

The form of the dialogue might appear here to be essentially a means
of allowing a more vivid presentation of otherwise dry material. For
both works, Lipsius uses the technical rhetorical term dialogismus as
part of the title. But more important is the fact that the student-—listener
and the highly placed civil servants are both treated as equally entitled
to participate in the dialogue, even though, in fact, they are both treated
as needing the instruction of the author. Lipsius was more faithful to
the Ciceronian model in 1582 in the Saturnalium sermonum libri duo.
Qui de gladiatoribus: in the sophisticated conversations which make up
that work, the various participants contribute equally to the themes,

6 Olschki, Galilei (note 59), 12-67; D. W. Singer, Giordano Bruno, His Life and
Thought, with Annotated Translation of His Work on the Infinite Universe and Worlds
(New York, 1950), 26-45.

61 J. Lipsius, De militia romana libri quinque, Commentarius ad Polybium. Editio ultima
(Antwerp, 1614); J. Lipsius, Poliorceticon sive de machinis, tormentis, telis libri
quinque, ad historiarum lucem. Editio quarta, correcta et aucta (Antwerp, 1625).

Walter Riiegg

even where these are about Roman table manners and gladiatorial games
and not about controversial philosophical problems, as they were in
David Hume’s Dialogues concerning Natural Religion (1751/1779).

The dialogic literary form was paralleled by the significance of dia-
logue in social relationships. Beginning in Italy and then more widely
throughout Europe, there emerged conversational circles, sodalitates,
contubernia, convivia, sometimes under the name of academies in which
persons of intellectual interests and others engaged in practical affairs
regularly came together for learned discussions. From informal meetings,
these developed into formal institutions with statutes. Whether they
were private associations or under the patronage of princes, their objec-
tive was the furtherance of scientific and scholarly knowledge.

INTERNATIONAL AND NATIONAL ACADEMIC COMMUNICATION

Communication among scholars across the length and breadth of
Europe took the form of letters. The eighteenth century has been called
the ‘century of letters’. The letter has been interpreted as evidence of
the bourgeois ‘discovery of the writer’s self-consciousness as well as the
discovery of his society’. The letter brought together the emancipation
of the individual self with a new sense of community, ‘which could
extend into the cult of friendship’.®* The close affinity of letters and
friendship was already evident in the humanistic circles of the sixteenth
century. Guillaume Budé, who later instigated the founding of the Col-
lége des Lecteurs Royaux, which was an antecedent of the Collége de
France, immediately felt himself to be a member of the circle of friends
of the Swiss professor Vadianus in 1518 when he received a book and
a letter from him. He added to his letter of thanks that the friendship
which had been formed between them would not be damaged by any
possible war between France and the Swiss confederation. No human-
istic scholar (bumanitate literaria imbutus), who had found a friend in
a foreign country, would renounce that friendship if the rulers of their
countries became wearied of peace and developed a taste for military
enterprises.”

This attitude enables us to understand how, with the disintegration of
European ecclesiastical unity, a European republic of learning was
formed, in which the second person singular of the Latin letter was only

62 This is dealt with in detail in chapter 11, pp. 48off.

6 R. Wittman, ‘Das Jahrhundert des Briefes’, in Einladung ins 18. Jahrhundert, Ein Alma-
nach aus dem Verlag C. H. Beck im 225. Jahr seines Bestehens (Munich, 1988), 151-2.

°* Text in W. Riiegg, ‘Humanistische Elitenbildung in der Eidgenossenschaft zur Zeit der
Renaissance’, in G. Kauffmann (ed.), Die Renaissance im Blick der Nationen Europas,
Wolfenbiitteler Abhandlungen zur Renaissanceforschung, 9 (Wiesbaden, 1991), 133.

Themes

an external sign of the equality and indeed of the friendship of all its
participants. A multiple-stranded network of epistolary contacts bound
university teachers to each other, above and beyond the cleavages of
class, status, religious adherence and political attachment, and also
brought them close to the other elites of their respective societies. This
fostered a rapid diffusion and discussion of new ideas all over Europe.
From about 1665, the journal or review took over the function of the
letter.© Nevertheless, personal dialogue by letters remained the most fav-
oured form of intellectual communication until the coming into wide-
spread use of the telephone.

The exchange of letters on intellectual subjects was of considerable
magnitude. The 10,000 letters of Melanchthon and the 12,000 letters of
Bullinger, his counterpart from Zurich, cast some light on their roles as
heads, respectively, of the Protestant and Reformed churches. Lipsius’s
correspondence contains more than 4,300 letters which he sent to and
received from more than 800 individuals; these included practically all
the leading intellectuals of Europe at that time.®° A collection of auto-
graphed letters in the state and university library of Hamburg of the
most eminent scholars between the Reformation and 1735 contains
35,000 letters, which were written by 6,700 persons to about 2,000
recipients.°” Among them are over a thousand letters which were
exchanged by Bernegger (1582-1640), ‘one of the most beloved univer-
sity teachers of his time who, from 1613 to 1640, was the professor of
history at the then leading German university of Strasburg’,®* with the
greatest men of his time like Gustav II Adolph, Oxenstierna, Galileo,
Kepler, Grotius and Opitz.®’

The epistolary form was also used to introduce the reader to a work.
Instead of a foreword or preface, the scholarly and scientific books of
the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries usually opened with two letters.
The first was to a particular recipient, usually a patron who had made
possible the publication or who might reward it in some way, or to a
friend who would thereby be honoured or who would bring honour to

> See p. 485.

6° G. Oestreich, ‘Justus Lipsius als Universalgelehrter zwischen Renaissance und Barock’,
in T. H. Lunsingh Scheurleer and G. H. M. Posthumus Meyjes (eds.), Leiden University
in the Seventeenth Century. An Exchange of Learning (Leiden, 1975), 185.

6? C. Schultess, ‘Aus dem Briefwechsel des franzésischen Philologen und Diplomaten
Jacques Bongars (15 54-1612)’, inE. Kelter, E. Ziebarth and C. Schultess (eds.), Beitrage
zur Gelehrtengeschichte des siebzehnten Jahrhunderts (Hamburg, 1905), 149; N.
Kriiger, Supellex Epistolica Offenbachii et Wolfiorum. Katalog der Offenbach-
Wolfschen Briefsammlung, 2 vols. (Hamburg, 1978).

68 G. Oestreich, ‘Justus Lipsius als Theoretiker des neuzeitlichen Machtstaates’, Histori-
sche Zeitschrift, 181 (1956), 39.

°° E. Kelter, ‘Die Briefwechsel zwischen Matthias Bernegger und Johann Freinsheim (1629.
1633-1636)’, in Kelter et al. (eds.), Beitrdge (note 67), 3.

Walter Riiegg

the work. Then there was the letter to the reader to whom the book is
addressed and who is often spoken of as a ‘friend’;” this second letter
sets forth the intention of the book.

THE AGE OF ELOQUENCE

The main concern of the dialogue form was to persuade the reader,
the listener, or the interlocutor of the correctness of the author’s own
assertions. The humanist dialogue made no use of the technical language
or mode of argument characteristic of a discipline in a scholastic dispu-
tation. With the openness of a learned conversation the speaker’s own
experiences, knowledge and beliefs were confronted with those of other
persons in the language of learned communication, which, until the
eighteenth century, was mostly Latin.

Correspondingly, as is shown in many chapters of this book, rhetoric
played a central role in university teaching. The sixteenth and seven-
teenth centuries have rightly been called the ‘age of eloquence’ (l’dge de
l’éloquence)’' and the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries as the ‘age of
Cicero’ (aetas Ciceroniana) in contrast with the medieval age of Aristotle
(aetas Aristotelica).’* In his Ciceronianus published in 1528, Erasmus
censured with biting contempt the ape-like imitations of the Ciceronian
style. What is worthy of imitation, he said, is not an ancient linguistic
model but rather the concrete outlook which is expressed in it. Since —
as Cicero too would have agreed — language receives its meaning in a
community, Christian contemporaries must necessarily express them-
selves differently from pagans. The correct imitation of Cicero became
a cause célébre, which preoccupied the universities throughout the entire
sixteenth century.” There was general agreement regarding the connec-
tion, asserted by Cicero, between eloquentia and sapientia, between elo-
quence and ‘worldly wisdom’ as the corresponding professorial chairs
at G6ttingen were entitled. Rhetoric, thus understood, brought the art
of persuasion, with all its rational and emotional elements, to the height
of perfection; it could be applied not only in political action and social
intercourse but also in resolving the mysteries of nature.”

7 E. g. Daniel Heinsius, Orationum editio nova, ed. N. Heinsius (Amsterdam, 1657), 552:
title: ‘Amico lectori’; text: ‘Amice lector...’.

M. Fumaroli, L’Age de l’éloquence, rhétorique et ‘res literaria’ de la Renaissance au
seuil de l’époque classique (Geneva, 1980).

E. Gilson, ‘Le message de |’humanisme’, in F. Simone (ed.), Culture et politique en
France a l’époque de l’humanisme et de la Renaissance (Turin, 1974), 4; volume 1,
p. 449; R. Tuck, ‘Humanism and Political Thought’, in Goodman and MacKay (eds.),
Impact (note 33), 51-65.

Fumaroli, L’Age (note 71), 101-75.

J. C. Briggs, Francis Bacon and the Rhetoric of Nature (Cambridge, Mass./London,
1989).

Themes

As early as 1402, Vergerio, a former professor of logic at the Univer-
sity of Bologna who later played an important part in the introduction
of humanism into Hungary and who died in Budapest in 1444, in the
first and widely diffused work on humanistic education, said that the
objective of the dialogic intercourse with the ‘agreeable family of books’
was the formation of a refined bearing. It entailed knowledge of the artes
liberales and of history combined with an ethically based eloquence; it
was oriented towards the civitas, towards the civil community.” Thus,
the martial manners of the aristocracy would be made more urbane and
the new civic elites would become socially and politically more educated.

In 1519-22 Erasmus wrote Familiarum colloquiorum formulae with
a similar objective, in order, as one title-page put it, ‘not only to teach
the pupils a refined language but also and above all to educate them for
life’.’° In those dialogues, full of critical wit, he allowed a voice, in an
almost theatrical form, to speak to the whole variety of contemporary
society, monks, merchants, soldiers and prostitutes. At the same time,
he showed the pupils how, in spoken confrontation with the spurious
religious piety, political mendacity and sexual delinquency of the adult
world, an inward piety could be attained and manifested in social con-
duct. This work had a tremendous success, both generally and as a text-
book. Together with other educational writings, such as mirrors of
princes, conduct books, etc., Erasmus’s book led to a situation in which,
throughout Europe, bumanitas, cultura, humanité, civilité, civility,
became the distinctive features of an intellectual elite.”” The programmes
of study of the Roman Catholic as well as the Protestant universities
from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries shared the educational
ideals of sapiens atque eloquens pietas which had been formulated by
the Strasburg educational reformer, John Sturm, in 1538, and which
were later incorporated into the statutes of the newly founded University
of Helmstedt.”

THE NEW COLLECTIVE SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS

‘The Humanist I mean him that affects knowledge of state affaire,
Histories, etc.” That is the way in which the English diplomat Fynes
Moryson (1566-1630) in 1607 saw the role of the professors or ama-
teurs of studia humanitatis; by 1589, these were already referred to in

7° J. M. McManamon, ‘Innovation in Early Humanist Rhetoric: the Oratory of Pier Paolo
Vergerio the Elder’, Rinascimento, 32 (1982), 3-32.

© D. Erasmus, Familiarum colloquiorum formulae, ..., non tantum ad linguam puerilem
expoliendum utiles verum etiam ad vitam instituendam (Basle, 1522).

7” Huppert, ‘Idea’ (note 56); Becker, Civility (note 57).

”* A. Schindling, Humanistische Hochschule und Freie Reichstadt. Gymnasium und Akad-
emie in StraSburg 1538-1621 (Wiesbaden, 1977), 31.

Walter Riiegg

English as ‘humanists’.”” These persons were not interested in the vita
contemplativa, in knowledge for the sake of knowledge; they were rather
interested in the vita activa, in knowledge for the use of the civil com-
munity. What was a welcome by-product of the teaching and learning
of intellectual methods in the medieval university became in the sixteenth
century the main task of the university, namely, the training of clergy-
men, priests, physicians, lawyers, judges and civil servants.

Nevertheless, it was not only this concern for the professions which
brought the university and its teachers into closer relations with the bear-
ers of public authority — and often into an excessive dependence on
them.

The university teacher wished to contribute something useful to his
society. He did this first by the philological-historical study of the ancient
sources. This would enable him and his contemporaries to master the
problems of their own age. Thus, already the Florentine humanists found
in the institutions of ancient Rome models for the political and military
defence of the republic. Leonardo Bruni (1370-1444), historian, chan-
cellor and humanistic translator of Aristotle’s Ethics, based his book De
militia on Roman sources in order to support the argument for the citi-
zens’ militia and against a mercenary army. Machiavelli (1469-1527)
undertook the hopeless task of saving the republican constitution of
Florence by a popular militia according to the ancient model.*°

Justus Lipsius’s dialogues on the military life of the Romans had a
greater success. They described the organization, tactics, weapons, and
techniques of fortification and siege of the Roman army and compared
them with contemporary military activities. Already in 1589, in his
Politicorum seu civilis doctrinae libri sex, qui ad principatus maxime
spectant, Lipsius had set forth the basic principles of military training,
discipline, drill and exercises, internal structure of the armed forces, etc.
Although the work, as its title shows, was addressed primarily to the
monarch, the arguments on military discipline were taken into the new
Dutch articles of war (1590) and, in 1705, they were repeated verbatim.
De militia romana, as soon as it appeared in 1596, was sent by the
estates-general to the celebrated military reformer, Maurice of Nassau.
He, together with his senior officers, studied the work and tried out a
few particular proposals. He also took instruction from the author him-
self to learn that the superiority of the Roman army did not lie in its
particular weapons; its superiority lay in the tactical cooperation of the
different units of the army. His successful reform of the army was based

” Oxford English Dictionary (Compact edition, Oxford, 1971), 1345; quoted by Becker,
Civility (note 57), 31.

8° C.C. Bailey, War and Society in Renaissance Florence, the De militia of Leonardo Bruni
(Toronto, 1961).

Themes

primarily on his close study of Lipsius. The same was true of Johann von
Nassau-Siegen, the founder of the important military school at Siegen,
regarding the reforms which he proposed in his Kriegsbuch; this was
likewise true of the corresponding French and English military textbooks
of the seventeenth century.*?

Lipsius had an even more far-reaching influence through his reflections
on political matters as set forth in his Politica and other works; these
consist mainly of discussions of the ideas of Tacitus and Stoic philosophy
and of those of contemporaries like de Vitoria. He exercised influence
not only in his capacity as a philologist, historian and teacher of rhetoric
in the Protestant and Reformed universities but also, following his con-
version, in the Roman Catholic universities as well. His political writings
were eagerly read, and indeed even plagiarized, in political circles in
Germany, England, Spain, Austria and France. Gustav II Adolph of
Sweden and his daughter Christina, as well as the young Danish king,
Christian IV, were introduced to practical politics through the study of
Lipsius’s Politica.*?

The personal life of Lipsius, who changed his religious affiliations
much as he changed his garments, and the steady influence which he
exercised, unaffected by these changes, are a striking example of the
new collective self-consciousness of the learned. Religious and political
loyalties yielded to the individual’s convictions as a university teacher
and were sacrificed to his work and his influence. The university teacher
came to see himself not only as a member of a broad republic of learning
but also, in that capacity, as an equal interlocutor of cardinals and states-
men. Lipsius dedicated his Politica ‘to all princes’. He did so with extra-
ordinary self-consciousness.**? Historians have discerned a similarly
heightened self-consciousness among other university teachers as well.**
This was especially true of the professors of the faculty of philosophy
(or arts), which in the medieval university could confer a higher social
status on its students only if studies in that faculty were accompanied
by a degree in theology, law or medicine. The new collective self-
consciousness of the academic profession strikes the modern reader very
sharply in their engraved portraits and the title-pages of their books.

81 G. Oestreich, Neostoicism and the Early Modern State (Cambridge, 1982); A. Grafton,
‘From Ramus to Ruddiman. The Studia humanitatis in a Scientific Age’, in N. Phillipson
(ed.), University, Society and the Future. A Conference held on the 400th Anniversary
of the University of Edinburgh, 1983 (Edinburgh, 1983), 65-8.

82 Oestreich, ‘Justus Lipsius’ (note 66), 191.

83 'W. Dilthey, ‘Weltanschauung und Analyse des Menschen seit Renaissance und Refor-
mation’, in Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 1 (Leipzig/Berlin, 1914), 269.

8 Olschki, Galilei (note 59), 20; M. Greschat, ‘Humanistisches Selbstbewusstsein und
reformatorische Theologie’, in L’Humanisme allemand (1480-1540), XVIII° colloque
international de Tours (Paris, 1979), 371-86, esp. 374.

Walter Riiegg

Self-consciousness can lead to regarding one’s own standpoint as
absolute; it can lead to bitter polemics, towards extreme partisanship.
From the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, party labels ending with
‘-ism’ increased. Erasmus took over such doctrinaire designations as
‘Hellenism’, ‘Judaism’, ‘Christianism’ from the Old Testament and the
church fathers. From 1570 on, similar party labels were used for contem-
porary religious factions such as Calvinism, Catharism, Anabaptism,
Catholicism, and for philosophical doctrines such as Platonism,
Epicurianism, Stoicism, deism and scepticism. All these neologisms mul-
tiplied greatly in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. ‘Humanism’
was coined in 1808 in a polemic against ‘philanthropinism’.®

Self-consciousness was not confined to individuals or to academic col-
lective self-consciousness. A national collective self-consciousness
became pronounced among academics. It has often been wondered that
the same humanists who were concerned with the re-establishment of
the ancient sources were among the most active forerunners of the redis-
covery and study of their own national literature and history. That is,
however, a difficulty only for those who define humanism as nothing
more than the imitation of Antiquity. The dialogic approach to
Antiquity is perfectly compatible with national collective _ self-
consciousness. This is exactly what happened among university teachers,
often in cooperation with amateur humanists. Thus Conrad Celtis, who
was professor at the University of Vienna, edited in 1501 the works of
Hroswitha of Gandersheim. Through his founding of sodalitates
(learned societies) in Ingolstadt, Heidelberg, Nuremberg, Vienna, Augs-
burg, he began the collection and editing of the sources of medieval
German history and literature. A circle was formed in Paris around
Jean Daurat (Dorat, 1508-88), professor at the Collége des Lecteurs du
Roi, in the hope of bringing about a revival in French literature through
the creative adaptation of classical models. Ronsard was one of Daurat’s
most able students.*”

In Spain, the professor of rhetoric of the University of Alcala,
A. Garcia Matamoros (1510?-72), wrote an Apologia ‘Pro adserenda

85 W. Riiegg, Cicero und der Humanismus, formale Untersuchungen tiber Petrarca und
Erasmus (Zurich, 1946), 2.

86 H. Lutz, ‘Die Sodalitaten im oberdeutschen Humanismus des spaten 15. und friihen 16.
Jahrhunderts’, in W. Reinhard (ed.), Humanismus im Bildungswesen des 15. und 16.
Jahrhunderts, Mitteilung XII der Kommission fiir Humanismusforschung (Weinheim,
1984), 49-56.

87 A. Grafton, Joseph Scaliger. A Study in the History of Classical Scholarship, vol. 1
(Oxford, 1983), 74-8; S. Dresden, ‘The Reception of the Italian Renaissance in France’,
in H. O. Oberman and T. A. Brady (eds.), Itinerarium Italicum. The Profile of the
Italian Renaissance in the Mirror of its European Transformations, Studies in Medieval
and Renaissance Thought, xIv (Leiden, 1975), 128-33.

Themes

Hispanorum eruditione’, a patriotic history of Spanish letters from
Tubal and the Scipios to his own time.*

In the Netherlands, it was first the amateur humanists, like Cornelius
Aurelius (c. 1460-1531) and Dirck Volckertsz Coornhert (1522-90),
who concerned themselves with their native history and language;
Johannes Becanus (1519-72) traced these back to Adam in his Origines
Antwerpianae (1569). Later, the professors of the University of Leiden
concerned themselves with their mother tongue; among them were the
mathematician Simon Stevin (1548-1620) and above all the famous
classical philologist Daniel Heinsius (1580-1655), who published Ned-
erduytsche poemata in 1616.*”

It was even more pronounced in England among the non-academic
humanists; Thomas More in his Richard III (1513-16) and Thomas
Starkey in the Dialogue between Pole and Lupset concerned themselves
with English history and the English constitution. In 1532, there
appeared humanistic editions of Chaucer and John Gower, with intro-
ductions which dealt with the standing of the English language and
English literature.”°

Probably no one embodied individual and national self-consciousness
in such a polemical way as the German knight, poet laureate and
alumnus of six universities, Ulrich von Hutten, with whose laudation of
humanism the second section of this chapter began. ‘Behold, posterity’,
he penned, ‘the songs of the poet Hutten, whom you are rightly able to
call your own! ... He aimed to free the Fatherland of ignorance, of the
shackles of Rome and to elevate culture above that of Italy.’”’

HUMANISM AND THE UNIVERSITIES

However much humanistic forms of education and communication con-
tributed to a new self-consciousness, the universities — and alongside the
universities, the gymnasia and academies which developed at the same
time” — were the main seats of these ideas. What was already observed
of Germany applies to the other countries of central and eastern Europe.
‘All the early foundations of universities in German countries, including
Vienna and Prague, and the groundswell of foundations in the fifteenth

Lawrance, ‘Humanism in the Iberian Peninsula’ (note 33), 249.

E. Strietman, ‘The Low Countries’, in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds.), The Renaissance
in National Context (Cambridge, 1992), 79-80.

D. Starkey, ‘England’, in Porter and Teich (eds.), Renaissance (note 89), 154-8.

L. W. Spitz, ‘Humanism in Germany’, in Goodman and MacKay (eds.), Impact (note
33), 212-13.

Cf. W. Riiegg, ‘Die humanistische Unterwanderung der Universitat’, in Antike und
Abendland, Beitrige zum Verstaéndnis der Griechen und Romer und ibres Nachlebens,
38 (1992), 115-22, with a full discussion of ‘ad fontes’.

Walter Riiegg

century which were the expressions of the cultural and political aspir-
ations of their secular and ecclesiastical patrons, were inspired by the
upsurge of humanistic education.’”* Even the older faculties were per-
vaded by humanistic influences. Although this did not happen without
difficulties, even the tensions between scholasticism and humanism led
more frequently to mutual enrichment than to polemical exaggerations
and overstatements.

Professors in the medical faculties, who for the most part had pursued
a humanistic course of study themselves and who often, together with or
instead of medicine, had to teach the trivium or the quadrivium, edited,
annotated and translated newly discovered and critically revised texts of
ancient medical works. Erasmus praised three such humanistic renewers
of medicine: Niccol6 Leoniceno (1428-1524), who taught philosophy,
mathematics and medicine for sixty years in Ferrara; Thomas Linacre
(1460-1524), personal physician of Henry VIII and founder of the Royal
College of Physicians in London; as well as William Cop (d. 1536), pro-
fessor in Paris and later personal physician to the king of France. Phys-
icians of the next generation like Jean Fernel (1487-1558), court phys-
ician in Paris and author of important textbooks in physiology, John
Caius (1510-51), English court physician and patron of Gonville College
Cambridge, Conrad Gessner (1516-65), professor of medicine in Zurich
and a polymath, as well as Theodor Zwinger (1533-88), professor at
the University of Basle and his successor as the author of encyclopaedic
works, all of these applied philological methods in order to make the
discoveries of ancient sciences usable by modern medicine.

Andreas Vesalius (1514-64) was also humanistically educated; he had
produced an edition of Galen before becoming professor in 1537 in
Padua. In order to check Galen’s anatomical ideas, he began dissection.
Six years later, in 1543, he published his chef d’ceuvre, De humani
corporis fabrica.”*

The influence of humanism on jurisprudence began only in the six-
teenth century and then north of the Alps. Its main centre was France,
above all Bourges, where Andreas Alciatus, the Milanese humanist so
highly esteemed by Erasmus, began in 1530 to subject the Corpus juris
to a humanistic commentary. It was also by his humanistic editions of
the jurisprudential sources that Jacques Cujas (1520-90) laid the foun-
dation for his reputation as an outstanding jurist. That the sources were
seen to be more important than medieval commentaries was already
observed by Ulrich Zasius (1461-1535), a Freiburg jurist who was a

93 L. Boehm, ‘Humanistische Bildungsbewegung und mittelalterliche Universitatsverfas-
sung’, in J. [Jsewijn and J. Paquet (eds.), The Universities in the Late Middle Ages,
Mediaevalia Lovaniensia, series 1, studia 6 (Louvain, 1978), 324.

*4 Sarton, Six Wings (note 52), 175.

Themes

friend of Erasmus.” But it was not only the sources of Roman law that
were being opened up. ‘The humanistic encounter with Cicero... and
particularly the encounter with the Greek philosophers of law’ opened
‘the way to new knowledge of legal doctrine and legal institutions’. Text-
books for law students were oriented towards the methodological writ-
ings of leading humanists such as Erasmus, Agricola, Vives and Mel-
anchthon; in substance, they aimed at the ‘realization of programmes
which were derived from the traditions of humanistic, Ciceronian — ulti-
mately Greek — ideas of aequitas’.”°

Going even more deeply were the repercussions of the biblical human-
ism inaugurated by Erasmus. Melanchthon in 1518 saw the importance
of Erasmus’s having brought theology back to the sources.”” The return
ad fontes later — probably only in the nineteenth century — became the
battle-cry of the humanistic renaissance. Melanchthon was the first who
explicitly invoked the return to the sources as the point of departure of
his reform of studies at the Protestant universities. In his inaugural lec-
ture at Wittenberg, entitled, programmatically, De corrigendis ado-
lescentiae studitis, he promised the students an education of the highest
value in which they ‘could draw on the scientific sources to be found in
the best authors. Whoever wishes to accomplish something worthwhile
in theology or jurisprudence must be familiar with humanis disciplinis
(sic enim philosophiam voco)’. He said that the objective of the humanae
litterae, in which he included history and natural philosophy, is a philo-
sophical and rhetorical education which is conducive to the ethically
responsible handling of public affairs and which also is a preparation
for theological studies. Theology is part Hebrew, part Greek. One must
learn those alien languages from which the Latins created their works.
The study of original texts reveals the brilliant surface and the intrinsic
value of words and their true meaning, which leads to the essence of
the matter; when ‘we turn our attention to the sources, we can begin to
understand Christ’ (Atque cum animos ad fontes contulerimus, Christum
sapere incipiemus).”*®

North of the Alps, it was Erasmus who provided the impetus for the
study of Greek and Hebrew. These were no longer required for the train-
ing of clergymen for the Orient — as the only sporadically executed resol-
utions of the Council of Vienne recommended — and not only, as the

* R, Stintzing, Ulrich Zasius. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Rechtswissenschaft im Zeit-
alter der Reformation (Basle, 1857; reprint Darmstadt, 1961), 103.

© H. E. Troje, ‘Die Literatur des gemeinen Rechts unter dem Einfluss des Humanismus’,
in Coing, Handbuch II, 614-793, quotation p. 615.

*? ‘Niondum satis Erasmus probatur qui primus, etiam doctorum iudicio, theologiam ad
fontes revocavit’ (Dedication to Bernardus Maurus in January 1519 to Melanchthon’s
‘Rhetorica’ printed in Haguenau: Corpus reformatorum, vol. 1 (Halle, 1834), 63).

98 Melanchthon, ‘Sermo habitus’ (note 10), quotation pp. 38-40, cf. p. 19.

ce)

Walter Riiegg

Italian humanists desired, for dialogue with Greek philosophers, poets,
scientists and historians. The predominant motive was the desire to
improve theological study by going back to its sources. In 1511 in Cam-
bridge, Erasmus, as the incumbent of a theological professorship
endowed by the queen, inaugurated the study of Greek. In 1540, Cam-
bridge was given regius professorships of Greek and Hebrew; in 1546,
Oxford was granted the same. At the University of Louvain (Leuven) in
1517, a friend of Erasmus, Jerome Busleyden, founded the Collegium
Trilingue which later became a major centre of humanistic studies for
all Europe. In France, Francis I, at the suggestion of Guillaume Budé,
followed the example of Louvain (Leuven) and founded the Collége des
Lecteurs Royaux for the study of Latin, Greek and Hebrew. (It was the
predecessor of the Collége de France.)

The University of Alcala, which was founded by Cardinal Ximenes in
1499, had the humanistic reform of theological study as its objective.
The first result of this was the Polyglot Bible, printed in 1517 and pub-
lished in 1523. It contained the unmodified Vulgate and its Hebrew,
Syriac and Greek sources. It was an admirable, even if philologically
imperfect, work; it attained neither the public success nor even the
ecclesiastical impact of the Greek New Testament, edited and retrans-
lated by Erasmus in 1516.”’

Melanchthon drew hundreds of students to his reformed programme
of studies. He also consolidated its position institutionally at the Univer-
sity of Marburg founded in 1529 and in Wittenberg too he expanded
the programme further in 1536 with the creation of ten professorships
in the faculty of arts, while the higher faculties were each given only
from one to three professorships. The supplementation of the traditional
professorships for grammar, dialectics, mathematics, physics and astron-
omy by chairs for Hebrew, Greek, history and poetry, as well as the
emphasis laid on eloquence by the creation of two professorships,
became a model for the newly founded universities and academies. Old
universities were being reformed in a humanistic direction. For Prot-
estant clergymen — the verbi divini minister — a theological training based
on the humaniora became indispensable. In the course of the Counter-
Reformation, the study of the humaniora became the rule in the training
for the Roman Catholic priesthood.’”

With the passage of time, the objective of the studia humaniora
shifted. They were intended to foster a type of lay piety which was com-
patible with the requirements of everyday life; they were not intended
to be made into a means for promoting a type of piety dominated by

»? Lawrance, ‘Humanism in the Iberian Peninsula’ (note 33), 252.
109 See chapter 9, pp. 371-2.

Themes

dogma. They tried to limit themselves, to use a formulation by Salutati,
‘to opening a door to correct writing so that one could then press for-
ward on one’s own to deal with other, more theological and more diffi-
cult problems’.’*’ Such problems as the immortality of the soul, the
relationship between divine providence and free will, between pleasure,
the striving for gain, glory and piety, were discussed in the form of letters
or of dialogues. The various answers were not judged for their dogmatic
correctness but rather by comparing them as expressions of subjective
experience and knowledge and by confronting them with the actual situ-
ations which they faced. Such tolerance was not given precedence, either
by Protestant orthodoxy or by its Counter-Reformation counterpart;
both of them were represented mainly by graduates of the universities
which were permeated by the humanistic outlook.

‘More learned, more wrong-headed’: this proverb was applied to the
humanistically trained theologians by the Anabaptists, but not only by
them. Sebastian Castellio (1515-63), professor of Greek at the Univer-
sity of Basle, did the same; after the execution of Servetus he charged
Calvin with acting as if ‘Jesus was crucified in Hebrew, Greek and Latin.
And the same is true today. Do you not see that those who know these
three languages are also the instigators of persecution?’ It is true that
the Calvinists who were under attack could point out that Castellio and
other opponents of the persecution of heretics were humanists, too. The
Amsterdam preacher, Dwinglo, who was suspect for his edition of the
works of Castellio, was right when he accused the humanistically trained
‘theologizers’ of allowing the sword of authority to protect their opi-
nions; this would never be done by a physician or merchant.'”

Earlier historians have made the wars of religion of the second half
of the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth century responsible
for the decline of the universities. But the universities expanded in this
period and they had real scientific and scholarly achievements which are
nowadays more appreciated than they were in the nineteenth century.
Nevertheless, the centre of gravity of science and scholarship gradually
shifted. Padua and Leiden became more important than Bologna and
Paris; it remains an open question whether greater weight is to be attri-
buted to the proximity of the former two universities to the great com-
mercial centres of Venice and Amsterdam or to their greater tolerance
towards persons holding divergent views. In the sixteenth century, Sala-
manca was a major university not only for the colonies in the New

101 C, Salutati, Epistolario, ed. F. Novati, vol. m1 (Rome, 1896), 614.

102 C. Gilly, ‘Das Sprichwort “‘Die Gelehrten die Verkehrten”’ oder der Verrat der Intellek-
tuellen im Zeitalter der Glaubensspaltung’, in A. Rotondo (ed.), Forme e destinazione
del messaggio religioso, aspetti della propaganda religiosa nel Cinquecento (Florence,
1991), 229-375, quotation pp. 232, 330.

Walter Riiegg

World but also in Europe itself. The Scottish universities surpassed
Oxford and Cambridge in the seventeenth century; in the eighteenth
century, Halle and Gottingen forged well ahead of the older central and
east European universities.

At the same time, the universities were losing their monopoly of scien-
tific and scholarly research and of the training of elites which they had
enjoyed in the Middle Ages, together to some extent with the collegiate
institutions of the religious orders. The most innovative scholars and
scientists left the universities to enter the service of princely states, to join
academies or to seek the leisure and freedom needed for their research as
private persons. However, the universities did not remain aloof from the
so-called Scientific Revolution of the seventeenth and eighteenth centur-
ies, as our book shows and as has recently been demonstrated for the
University of Halle with respect to the teaching of chemistry.'°’ Never-
theless, the greatest scientific discoveries of the period could only seldom
be attributed to the universities, in sharp contrast with the nineteenth
century. This failure of the universities to contribute more to the Scien-
tific Revolution can be explained only in part by the dogmatic affir-
mation of their beliefs by the various religious communities or by the
censorship of beliefs. The deeper causes must be sought rather in the
humanistic domination of the universities.

Humanism conquered the universities. The task then became the con-
solidation of the conquered territories by the creation of professorial
chairs, syllabuses of courses of study and textbooks, so that works in
philosophy, mathematics, philology and history could be produced in
accordance with the humanistic idea of science and scholarship: to estab-
lish botanical gardens, anatomical theatres, museums and libraries and
to produce learned editions and encyclopaedias, to demonstrate philo-
sophically and theologically the value of humanism for church and state
and to translate it into practice. In the course of the consolidation of its
triumph, the bumaniora lost their original impetus and their character
changed. The central task of the humanistic university became the appli-
cation of its objective results rather than the intellectual and moral
experience of the scholar or student in his individual interaction with
the ancient authors. This was the main idea underlying Melanchthon’s
inaugural address at Wittenberg: to seek out in the ancient authors the
sources of the artes, and to seek out in the Bible and in the writings of
the church fathers the sources of theology.

What did it mean to say that the ancient authors should be seen pri-
marily as sources for facts, for systems of ideas and for the substance
of beliefs? The engraving on the title-page of the German translation in
1536 of the Odyssee by Schaidenreisser, the town clerk of Munich, pro-

103 See chapter 13, p. 546 and note 53-

Themes

vides a clear answer. Four streams flow out of the mouth of Homer into
the mouths of Virgil, Horace and Ovid and an unidentifiable poet in the
background; the last is perhaps the contemporary recipient of the tra-
dition which passes from Homer. In the text, Homer is said to be ‘the
oldest and the most artistic father of all poets’.

Here we find a change of perspective in the studia humanitatis in two
senses. The ancient author is no longer a friend of equal status but rather
the spiritual father; his significance lies literally in his being a source
from which knowledge flows into the later recipient. Thus, the ancient
author becomes once more the authority, and Antiquity becomes the
model for the present to emulate.

In his ground-breaking book, Loci communes, Melanchthon in 1519
drew the conclusion implied in his idea that ancient authors should be
treated, above all, as the fontes rerum. There he referred to ‘all the forms
of things which in some way can be related to practical life or to scien-
tific and scholarly thought’; these ‘forms of things’ are fundamental,
common, logical and ethical concepts which are taken from Holy Scrip-
ture and ancient authors and which, so Melanchthon writes, ‘are not
the result of arbitrary invention; they have their origin in the innermost
nature of things and which are indeed the original images or the norms
of all things’.’* ‘The universally valid methodological principle’ which
the universities should follow,’® is that in thinking, writing and speak-
ing, according to Loci communes, the literary-rhetorical education, both
formally and substantively, should seek the assimilation of selected
models of authorities.

The quality of the individual’s experience in dialogue had been elev-
ated when it was centred on the humaniora; now it was diminished in
order to foster strict and thorough fidelity in scientific and scholarly
activity to the forms and products of Antiquity, and to imitate them as
completely as possible. The example which was mentioned earlier about
the application of Roman military techniques and of their art of govern-
ment can be multiplied ad infinitum.’

The title-pages of the works of ancient authors or themes exhibit this
process. After 1550, the historical or mythical figures of Antiquity are
shown increasingly in ancient garments, often as parts of monuments,

104 P. Joachimsen, ‘Loci communes, Eine Untersuchung zur Geistesgeschichte des Human-
ismus und der Reformation’, Jahrbuch der Luthergesellschaft (1926), 32; reprinted in:
N. Hammerstein (ed.), Gesammelte Aufsdtze (Aalen, 1970), 387-442; Schmidt-
Biggemann, Topica (note 50), 19-20. j

105 W. Bruckner, ‘Loci communes als Denkform’, Daphnis. Zeitschrift fir mittlere deut-
sche Literatur, 4 (1975), 4.

106 §. Gaukroger (ed.), The Uses of Antiquity: the Scientific Revolution and the Classical
Tradition, Australian Studies in History and Philosophy of Sciences, 10 (Dordrecht/
Boston/London, 1991) and the informative review by A. Grafton in Isis, 84/1 (1993),
I 51-2.

Walter Riiegg

indeed of ancient sarcophagi; they cease to possess the living immediacy
of earlier title-pages.’°’ The ancient authors are no longer brought into
one’s home as guests and friends. Rather, modern man descends into
the world of Antiquity, measures it by his own researches, to the point
where, as in the Antiquita romane of Piranesi (1720-78), he appears as
a small surveyor or a seeker digging for buried treasures amidst the
majestic ruins of Antiquity.

The universities of the sixteenth century were preoccupied by the que-
relles cicéroniennes, in which the task was to find the right way to deal
with the ancient model. In the late seventeenth century, these were
extended to become querelles des anciens et modernes (Ancients versus
Moderns debate). In the latter, it was no longer a question of the way
in which the ancients should be imitated but rather of a comparison of
the progressive present with the antiquated achievements of the ancient
world. A distinction was made by critical scholars like Fontenelle (1657—
1757), who was the secretary of the Académie des sciences, between the
advances of the natural sciences and mastery in the use of language.
Voltaire (1694-1778), in a witty dialogue between Madame de Pompa-
dour and Tullia, Cicero’s daughter, drew the following conclusion:

We hiss at the barbarous scholastics who have ruled so long over us but
we respect Cicero and all the ancients who have taught us to think.
Although we have physical laws which are different from those of your
time, we do not have different rules of eloquence. This perhaps is the way
to resolving the quarrel between the ancients and the moderns.'™

Antiquity became the domain of education. In 1767, two years before
his appointment to the professorship in philosophy at Erfurt, Christoph
Martin Wieland (1733-1813) wrote the first German Bildungsroman,
Die Geschichte des Agathon. In this work, a young man seeks the way
to self-conscious humanity in a baroque grand tour among ancient
priests and philosophers as representatives of an ossified spirit on the
one side, and the hetherae and sophists who represent the instinctive
character of nature and reason on the other. Wieland was well aware
of the remoteness of Antiquity and, in his translation of the letters of
Cicero, he experienced ‘love at a distance’ as something painful. The

107 G. Finsterer-Stuber, Geistige Vater des Abendlandes, eine Sammlung von hundert
Buchtiteln antiker Autoren, mit einem Essay von W. Riiegg (Stuttgart, 1960).

‘Des anciens et les modernes, ou la toilette de Madame de Pompadour’, quoted in J.
von Stackelberg, ‘Die ‘‘querelle des anciens et modernes”. Neue Uberlegungen zu einer
alten Auseinandersetzung’, in R. Toellner (ed.), Aufklarung und Humanismus, Wolfen-
biitteler Studien zur Aufklarung, 6 (Heidelberg, 1980), 35-56, quotation p. 51. About
the ‘querelle’ G. Highet, The Classical Tradition, Greek and Roman Influence in West-
ern Literature, 3rd edn (New York/London, 1953), 261-92: ch. 14: The Battle of the
Books.

108

Themes

humaniora had lost their distinctive, humanistic powers of giving form
to human beings. Instead of being a living community of friendship with
the ancient authors, the humaniora became more and more an alien
theatre in which the world was presented and in which, in the end, was
revealed the vanitas mundi.’

In his Enzyklopaddie und Methodologie der philologischen Wissen-
schaften, August Boeckh (1785-1867), professor in Berlin, criticized the
great Dutch scholars for having travelled through Antiquity as if they
were on a major highway and saw only the exterior of things. ‘Such a
procedure does not lead to the understanding of the nature of things.
The only correct method is the cyclical one, in which one draws together
everything about a central point and then from there examines all sides
of the periphery.’’’° This central point was, according to Boeckh, not
the individual human being but rather ‘the principle of a people or of
an age’ or what Hegel called the ‘true general essence of the spirit’.*™’
This shift of paradigm lay at the foundation of Humboldt’s neo-
humanism and of his conception of education which opened a new
epoch in the history of universities and which is the theme of the third
volume.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Becker, M. B. Civility and Society in Western Europe, 1300-1600, Bloomington,
Ind., 1988.

Chiapelli, F. (ed.) First Images of America. The Impact of the New World on
the Old, Berkeley, Calif./Los Angeles, Calif./London, 1976.

Fumaroli, M. L’Age de l’éloquence, rhétorique et ‘res literaria’ de la Renaissance
au seuil de l’époque classique, Geneva, 1980.

Gaukroger, S. (ed.) The Uses of Antiquity: the Scientific Revolution and the
Classical Tradition, Australian Studies in History and Philosophy of Sciences,
10, Dordrecht/Boston, Mass./London, 1991.

Goodman, A. and MacKay, A. (eds.) The Impact of Humanism on Western
Europe, London/New York, 1990.

Grafton, A. and Jardine, L. (eds.) From Humanism to the Humanities: Edu-
cation and the Liberal Arts in Fifteenth and Sixteenth Century Europe, Cam-
bridge, Mass., 1986.

Grafton, A., with Shelford, A. and Siraisi, N. New Worlds, Ancient Texts. The
Power of Tradition and the Shock of Discovery, Cambridge, Mass., 1992.
Kaufmann, G. (ed.) Die Renaissance im Blick der Nationen Europas, Wolfenbiit-

teler Abhandlungen zur Renaissance-Forschung, 9, Wiesbaden, 1991.

109 F, Sengle, Wieland. Leben, Werk, Welt (Stuttgart, 1949), 558.

1° A. Boeckh, Enzyklopddie und Methodologie der philologischen Wissenschaften, ed.
E. Bratuschek (Leipzig, 1877), 3-14, 47, 56.

1G. W. F. Hegel, Werke, vol. xvi (Berlin, 1834), 144.

Walter Riiegg

Kearney, H. F. Scholars and Gentlemen: Universities and Society in Pre-
Industrial Britain, 1500-1700, London, 1970.

Kittelson, J. M. and Transue, P. J. (eds.) Rebirth, Reform and Resilience: Univer-
sities in Transition 1300-1700, Columbus, Ohio, 1984.

Lunsingh Scheurleer, T. H. and Posthumus Meyjes, G. H. M. (eds.) Leiden
University in the Seventeenth Century. An Exchange of Learning, Leiden,
1975.

Porter, R. and Teich, M. (eds.) The Renaissance in National Context, Cam-
bridge, 1992.

Schmidt-Biggemann, W. Topica universalis. Eine Modellgeschichte der huma-
nistischen und barocken Wissenschaft, Hamburg, 1983.

Stichweh, R. Der moderne Staat und die europdische Universitat. Zur Interak-
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(16.-18. Jahrhundert), Frankfurt-on-Main, 1991.

CHAPTER 2

PATTERNS

WILLEM FRIJHOFF

THE PURPOSES OF UNIVERSITIES

About 2,000 years before the period with which this volume is con-
cerned, Aristotle was asking what exactly was the purpose of the edu-
cation of his age: to produce learned men, to educate in virtue, or to
satisfy the material needs of society. Learning, virtue, utility: the
advancement of knowledge, preparation for the observance of a code of
social, moral and religious conduct, and training for high office or the
professions are the three great purposes that all through history and with
constant changes of emphasis are repeatedly cited in discussion of the
purposes of universities. The changing physiognomy of higher education
and the continual modification in the map of European universities are
due largely to these changes in emphasis, to shifts in the significance
assigned to these purposes, and in the priorities that society (or rather
its dominant economic, social and cultural groups) applies to each of
them.

This reference to one of the thinkers of Antiquity is not as random
as it may at first seem. Our period opens with the foundation of the
University of Wittenberg in 1502, the institution that soon afterwards
launched a great religious movement that became a powerful current for
reform of the universities. Yet this university proudly proclaimed in its
title, ‘Academia Vitebergensis’, that it belonged to a tradition, straddling
the darkness of medieval scholasticism, that attached itself to the true
sources of learning drawn from Greek and Latin Antiquity.’ Relations
between master and students in the university structure of the medieval

1 Cf. E. C. Reinke and G. G. Krodel (eds.), Nicolaus Marschalk’s Commencement Address
Delivered at the University of Wittenberg, January 18, 1503 (Valparaiso, 1967), 8;
M. Grossmann, Humanism at Wittenberg 1485-1517 (Nieuwkoop, 1975).

Willem Frijhoff

studium show how heavily the auctoritates, the opinions of doctors of
renown, bore on the development of learning. That relationship between
the members of the university was to be replaced, at least in theory, by
the academic ideal which in the new university organization linked tea-
chers and students in a common quest for learning, the studia humani-
tatis (humane studies) capable of moulding character no less than the
spirit and intelligence.”

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when the modern univer-
sities lost their impetus and much of their earlier inspiration, this model
of academic sociability lived on in the learned exchanges of the literary
and scientific academies, whose members — professional researchers and
amateurs, virtuosi and dilettanti - shared a new openmindedness
towards the new branches of learning.’ Within the university the aca-
demic model flourished anew in the Humboldtian ideal,* at the begin-
ning of the period covered in the next volume.

This use of a new term of Greek origin, ‘Academia’, known as early
as the fifteenth century, is symbolic for yet another reason: it points
directly to what we should now call a change of academic paradigm,”
for it shows that historical philology was being used as a new means of
apprehending scientific truth. This paradigm was not, however, pre-
dominant throughout the early modern period. Philology had to give
way to the exact sciences, and, of these, mathematics was the universal
touchstone of the seventeenth century. In the eighteenth century math-
ematics in its turn had to give way to the experimental method.°

Thus each of the three centuries covered by this volume has its pre-
dominant scientific influence, and its illustrious men of learning who
became their champions. In the sixteenth century, the century of phil-
ology and the great revision of the foundations of theology, men of let-
ters and theologians predominate — Desiderius Erasmus (1469-1536),
Martin Luther, the monk of Wittenberg (1483-1546), and John Calvin
(1509-64), and all the great Catholic and Protestant theologians active

2 W. Reinhard (ed.), Humanismus im Bildungswesen des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts
(Weinheim, 1984); G. M. Bertin, La pedagogia umanistica europea nei secoli XV e XVI
(Milan, 1961); N. Hammerstein, ‘Humanismus und Universitaten’, in A. Buck (ed.),
Die Rezeption der Antike (Hamburg, 1981), 22ff.; A. Grafton and L. Jardine (eds.),
From Humanism to the Humanities: Education and the Liberal Arts in Fifteenth and
Sixteenth Century Europe (Cambridge, Mass., 1986).

On the different kinds of learned academies, see the select bibliography, pp. 109-10.

C. Menze, Die Bildungsreform Wilhelm von Humboldts (Hanover, 1975); L. Boehm,
‘Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767-1835) and the University: Idea and Implementation’,
CRE-Information, 62 (1983), 89-105.

Cf. T. 8. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago, Ill., 1962; 2nd enlarged
edn. Chicago, IIl., 1970).

Cf. T. S. Kuhn, ‘Mathematical versus Experimental Traditions in the Development of
Physical Science’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 7 (1976), I-31; republished in
T. S§. Kuhn, The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition and Change
(Chicago, Ill., 1977), 31-65; see also the select bibliography of chapter 13.

> WwW

Patterns

in the Protestant Reformation and the Catholic Counter-Reformation.’
At the end of the century the literary paradigm reached its peak in the
work of Joseph Justus Scaliger (1540-1609) and Justus Lipsius (1547-
1606), whose services universities vied with each other to obtain. But
when humanism became the servant of the political or university estab-
lishment it lost its vitality and, indeed, its credibility; Justus Lipsius is a
tragic illustration of this. Although a Stoic humanist, he became an
apologist of the stake as a means of upholding state unity.® The days of
that paradigm were over.

Another was getting ready to take its place. Following in the footsteps
of their predecessors such as Nicholas Copernicus (1473-1543) and
Pierre de la Ramée (Ramus, 1515-72), great mathematicians emerged,
among them Simon Stevin (1548-1620), Francois Viéte (1540-1603),
Galileo Galilei (1564-1642), René Descartes (1596-1650), Pierre de
Fermat (1601-65) and Christiaan Huygens (1629-95). Significantly, not
all of them taught in universities; many of them remained men of learn-
ing who lived by their own means or on a stipend, sometimes through
choice but also because many universities were hostile to the new learn-
ing. Indeed, the great revival of science largely bypassed the universities,
although not to the same extent everywhere. The universities had cor-
rectly seen that the new learning threatened the established order of their
disciplines, for the work of the seventeenth-century philosophers and
mathematicians was so important that it far exceeded the narrow limits
of those disciplines stricto sensu. The Cartesian controversy, for
example, affected all faculties to some extent, because Descartes’s
methods went to the very roots of science and challenged the current
methods of teaching and practising it.’

Meanwhile the new paradigm was taking upon itself the sharper out-
line of the experimental method. In his unfinished Instauratio magna,
Francis Bacon (1561-1626) was the forerunner — prophet rather than

’” For different aspects of the evolution of teaching, see chapters 12, 13 and 14. On the
problem of the transformation of the universities, see J. M. Fletcher, ‘Change and Resist-
ance to Change: a Consideration of the Development of English and German Universit-
ies during the Sixteenth Century’, History of Universities, 1 (1981), 1-36. For the
relations between the Reformation and the universities, see L. Grane (ed.), University
and Reformation (Leiden, 1981); L. Petry, ‘Die Reformation als Epoche der deutschen
Universitatsgeschichte’, in L. Petry (ed.), Festgabe J. Lortz, vol. 1: Glaube und Ge-
schichte (Baden-Baden, 1958), 317-53; O. J. de Jong, ‘States, Churches and Universities
during the Reformation’, CRE-Information, 72 (1985), 47-60; G. A. Benrath, ‘Die
Deutsche Evangelische Universitat der Reformationszeit’, in Universitat und Gelebrten-
stand, 63-84.

A. Gerlo (ed.), Juste Lipse (1547-1606). Colloque international tenu en mars 1987
(Brussels, 1988).

L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Aristotle, Descartes and the New Science: Natural Philosophy at
the University of Paris 1600-1740’, Annals of Science, 38 (1981), 33-69; L. W. B.
Brockliss, ‘Philosophy Teaching in France, 1600-1740’, History of Universities, 1
(1981), 131-68.

os)

Willem Frijhoff

architect — of this method.'® With men of learning like the chemist
Robert Boyle (1627-91), the physicist Isaac Newton (1642-1727) and
the physician Herman Boerhaave (1668-1738), the experimental
method became a firm operational basis for scientific work. Hence the
prodigious development of experimental science in the eighteenth cen-
tury, and its accompanying galaxy of applied sciences that led to the
foundation, outside the universities, of specialized schools of engineer-
ing, forestry, veterinary science and other disciplines.

This change of dominant paradigm led to the slow but irrevocable
decline of the typically medieval ascendancy of the church over the
universities. At the very end of our period, the last two university
foundations (both of them German) before the upheavals of the age
of revolution are typical examples of this dual trend. Bonn University,
erected by the elector of Cologne and confirmed by the Emperor
Joseph II in 1784, was the first Catholic university in the German
countries that (although founded in territory ruled by a bishop!) did
without a papal privilege.’’ The foundation of the short-lived Univer-
sity of Stuttgart in 1781 broke with both the name and the traditional
structure of a university. So as not to offend the theologians of nearby
Tiibingen, it was careful to call itself a ‘Hohe Schule’. In accordance
with ancient custom it claimed the traditional privileges of universities,
but its curriculum was entirely new. The University of Stuttgart, pre-
viously a military academy, rejected the quadripartite structure of
faculties of arts and philosophy, medicine, law, and theology, inherited
from past centuries, in favour of six sections: law, military science,
public administration (Cameralwissenschaft), forestry, medicine, and
economics.'* Teaching applied as well as pure science and, having
always in mind the active service of the state and the public interest,
it foreshadowed the modern western university system — exactly like
the hautes écoles set up by the French Revolution some years later
to replace the universities it had abolished.

It would be wrong to belittle the importance of this change of title.
When a new university takes a generic title it joins other institutions
using that title. It claims, as it were, to share the history of other univer-
sities and often adopts their structures, customs, rites and symbols. It
takes a borrowed identity and has to live up to it. A university that
changes its title changes its identity, at least in its own idea of itself. We

10 Cf. C. Webster, The Great Instauration. Science, Medicine and Reform 1626-1660
(London, 1975).

‘! M. Braubach, Die erste Bonner Universitat und ihre Professoren. Ein Beitrag zur rhein-
ischen Geistesgeschichte im Zeitalter der Aufklarung (Bonn, 1947).

2-H. Wagner, Geschichte der hohen Carlsschule, vol. 1 (Wurzburg, 1856); J. H. Voigt,
Die Universitat Stuttgart: Phasen ihrer Geschichte (Stuttgart, 1981).

Patterns

have therefore to consider what the studium generale or universitas or
alma mater has in common with the specialist haute école of the late
eighteenth century. The studium generale or the universitas or alma
mater was an all-embracing institution of the late Middle Ages that took
upon itself to regulate its members’ whole lives and cover the entire
extent of knowledge, pure and applied. The Universities of Salamanca,
Bologna, Cracow and Louvain are good examples of such ‘greedy insti-
tutions’, as opposed to the limited, specialist function of the hautes
écoles, such as the Ecole centrale des travaux publics in Paris (the school
of civil engineering that in 1795 assumed the title of ‘Polytechnique’).
Such changes of name, and of the university’s idea of itself that they
express, shed light on the long and difficult development of the medieval
university into the university of the nineteenth century. The university
has constantly assimilated the changes of form and function required
by its user groups in society, but has preserved its feeling of identity
unbroken.

There seems to be a great gulf between the university-academy in Wit-
tenberg, of the Augustinian friars bound by their vows to serve God and
the church, and the state University-Hohe Schule in Stuttgart, founded to
train officers for the army and officials for the government. Both, however,
traced their ancestry to a common institutional structure. They felt that
they belonged to the same tradition and rendered comparable services to
society. In the years between the two foundations, some 140 universities
were founded or restored or reorganized in Europe. In all, 190 universities,
including those existing on the eve of the early modern period, existed for
varying periods between 1500 and 1800 (see the list attached as an appen-
dix to this chapter). No study of relations between the university and
society would be complete without a classification of these institutions,
distinguishing them from each other or from comparable institutions of a
different level, or conversely, making it possible to recognize similar struc-
tures, or at least shared aims, under different titles.

WHAT WAS AUNIVERSITY IN THE EARLY MODERN PERIOD?

How, then, shall we define a university? That it calls itself a university
is not a sufficient criterion. In the early modern period the medieval term
studium generale was still frequently used in Mediterranean countries,
even for new foundations, but in the Germanic and Scandinavian count-
ries most universities took the title of ‘Academy’. This is a source of
confusion with academies of other educational levels - for example the
Academies of Nobles giving medium-level or specialized tuition’’ — or

13 Conrads, Ritterakademien.

Willem Frijhoff

even with the learned societies founded, as we have seen, in growing
numbers under the title of ‘Academy’ from the fifteenth century
onwards. Also, the way the university was organized led to the use of
the term ‘college’ (or collegio) in countries as different as Scotland and
Spain.

The case of eastern Europe shows clearly how difficult it is to rely
upon traditional terminology for the definition of a university in the full
sense of the word. After the foundation of new, Catholic academies in
the Lithuanian capital Vilnius by King Stephen Bathory (1578, con-
firmed by Pope Gregory XIII in 1579) and in the Polish town Zamosé
by the chancellor of the kingdom Jan Zamoyski (1594), in 1632 Metro-
politan Peter Mohyla founded at Kiev an Orthodox theological academy
as a kollegia (college)'* in the Ukraine, then under Polish rule. In the
Russian Empire this example was followed in 1687, when in Moscow
the Slavonic-Greek-Latin Academy was founded. In the Kiev and
Moscow institutions, liberal arts, languages and theology were taught,
just as in those ‘full’ universities of western Europe where only faculties
of philosophy and theology existed, as was the case in several Jesuit
universities. But the lack of fully-fledged universities in the Russian
Empire (to which the Ukraine returned in 1667) gave the Russian and
Ukrainian academies much greater influence: their teaching helped to
train a wide range of professions (statesmen, lawyers, physicians and
men of letters). Inside Russia, Kiev College especially was considered to
be a ‘real’ university. The foundation of the Academy of Sciences by
Tsar Peter the Great (1672-1725) at St Petersburg in 1724 could easily
add to the terminological confusion. This academy embraced three insti-
tutions linked together in an organic organization: an academy of sci-
ences on a western European model; a university where the scholars of
the academy would teach their disciplines at a high level; and a college
(lyceum) where the pupils of these scholars would transmit basic scien-
tific knowledge to younger people.’? When in 1747 St Petersburg Univer-
sity became an autonomous institution, many continued to refer to it as
an academy. The first Russian university named as such was that of
Moscow, founded in 1755 by Elizabeth (1709-61), daughter of Peter
the Great, on the proposal of the famous St Petersburg scientist Mikhail
V. Lomonosov (1711-65), whose former students were appointed pro-
fessors in Moscow. But, though including two lyceums (one for the
nobility and one for the other estates, as in the double lyceum founded

4 Z. I. Khizhnyak, Kievo-Mogilyanskaya Academia (Kiev, 1988).

1° Y. D. Margolis and G. A. Tishkin, Otechestvu na polzu, a rossiyanam vo slavu. Iz
istorii universitetskogo obrazovaniya v Peterburge v XVIII- nachale XIX veka
(Leningrad, 1988); E. Donnert, La Russie au siécle des Lumiéres (Leipzig, 1986), 68-92.

Patterns

at Kazan three years later, in 1758) and three faculties, this full univer-
sity did not at first award degrees.’®

To sum up, we may say that it was apparently only in England and
France that an institution of higher education with power to award
degrees was always called a university. But this is not enough. A cautious
approach to university history might be to define a university less strictly,
i.e., aS an institution dispensing certain kinds of higher education
(knowledge garnered in disciplines) for which it awards diplomas. But
on closer examination of university history, each term in that definition
raises problems of its own.

To start with, is a university only to be considered as such when it is
an institutio stricto sensu, that is, a teaching establishment founded by
the public authorities or at least recognized by them in law? This was the
criterion when the foundation of a university was the sole prerogative of
the pope or emperor, or better still of both together, and for so long as
their authority was not contested. In the early modern period, however,
political power was divided between numerous authorities, and the cri-
terion of institutional legitimacy would be unreliable. Political power
can of course always exercise its prerogative of approving the foundation
of a university by a regional or local community or even by private
individuals (as at Zamosé in 1594). It can also take the initiative by
systematically founding universities, as in the great educational reforms
of the eighteenth century, which from Italy to Spain restored order to a
system of universities regarded as incongruous, over-numerous or
aberrant.

Some university foundations did without legitimate authority. Did this
justify the German emperor, and with him the legitimist princes, in deny-
ing recognition for many years to the University of Leiden, founded in
1575 by the Dutch rebels (whose forged and fictitious deed of foun-
dation, allegedly from the legitimate authority, King Philip II, was
immediately disowned by him)?!’ This is one of the major problems of
dissident confessions in the early modern period. So long as the dissi-
dents were a minority in law, they simply went abroad to study, as the
Irish Catholics did in the Irish colleges and seminaries founded for them
in France and the Low Countries, or they set up private schools as the
Protestant nonconformists did in England;'® but as soon as a sovereign

16 [. A. Fedosov (ed.), Letopis Moskovskogo universiteta, 1755-1979 (Moscow, 1979),
16-18.

17 M. W. Jurriaanse, The Founding of Leyden University (Leiden, 1965).

18 On the nonconformist academies in Great Britain, see I. Parker, Dissenting Academies
in England (Cambridge, 1914; 2nd edn New York, 1969). On the importance of learn-
ing for the Puritans, who managed to found some colleges of a Puritan spirit in Cam-
bridge, see J. Morgan, Godly Learning. Puritan Attitudes towards Reason, Learning
and Education 1560-1640 (Cambridge, 1986). On the Comenian projects for a new

Willem Frijhoff

or territorial ruler embraced dissidence he hastened to transform the
local university into an institution of his own confession. This happened
for the first time in Hesse, where in 1527 the Landgrave Philip founded
a Lutheran studium without papal privilege or imperial approval. (The
Emperor granted his approval in 1541.)

The Calvinists were less fortunate. The German emperors initially ref-
used to recognize the Calvinist academies or Hochschulen as universities,
by denying them the right to confer degrees. Geneva too had no right
to award degrees. It only delivered a ‘testimonium vitae ac doctrinae’.
However, in some Calvinist states this testimonium was legally con-
sidered equivalent to a degree.’” But none of the Calvinist academies
in the Empire — neither Herborn, Bremen nor Steinfurt, nor any other
gymnasium academicum — was able to obtain a privilege. Only Duis-
burg, founded in 1654, could regard itself as a real university, on the
strength of an imperial privilege issued in 1566 for the foundation (never
fully realized) of a Catholic university in that town, though by then
Calvinism had been de facto recognized by the Emperor at the Peace of
Westphalia (1648). This boycott of Calvinist institutions had one
notable result: a kind of university in which the award of degrees, and
therefore the faculty system, was less important, and where pedagogy,
already part of the Sturmian model adopted by the family of Calvinist
universities, flourished more than elsewhere.”°

Secondly, any attempt to define universities by their teaching level
raises other difficulties. How is that level to be assessed? Certainly not
by reference to quality. Even in the most renowned universites — at Paris,
Coimbra, Salamanca, Cambridge, Oxford, Bologna, Cracow and Heid-
elberg, to quote only a few undisputed examples — teaching was not
always rated as exemplary. In the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries
there were loud complaints that the universities were declining, largely,
it was said, because their tuition was no longer satisfactory. The ‘crisis’
in university tuition everywhere now seems to us endemic, being the
result of inevitable tension between the inertia of the university and its
changing duties towards an evolving society; but undoubtedly there may
well have been good reason to mistrust the quality of university tuition.

system of education, including higher education, see C. Webster (ed.), Samuel Hartlib
and the Advancement of Learning (Cambridge, 1970).

T. Heyer, ‘Lettres patentes des Provinces-Unies des Pays-Bas en faveur des docteurs et
autres gradués de |’Académie de Genéve, 1593-1599’, Mémoires et documents publiés
par la Société d’histoire et d’archéologie de Genéve, 11 (1859), 161-91.

Cf. N. Hammerstein, ‘Schule, Hochschule und Res Publica Litteraria’, in §. Neumeister
and C. Wiedemann (eds.), Res Publica Litteraria. Die Institutionen der Gelebrsamkeit
in der friihen Neuzeit, Wolfenbiitteler Arbeiten zur Barockforschung, 14 (Wiesbaden,
1987), 93-110; G. Menk, Die Hohe Schule Herborn in ihrer Friihzeit (1584-1660).
Ein Beitrag zum Hochschulwesen des deutschen Kalvinismus im Zeitalter der Gegenre-
formation (Wiesbaden, 1981).

Patterns

That quality is not to be assessed solely in academic terms. It depends
just as much —- and perhaps depended even more in a period that had
not yet fully reconciled the academic vocation with the duties expected
of a university — on how far the curriculum meets the requirements of
the social groups supporting it. Here, certainly, the universities have
often been found wanting.’

We have, then, to use more objective and formal criteria: an establish-
ment of higher education is one recognized as such by the competent
authorities, either because it heads a hierarchy of educational establish-
ments, or because it conforms to a traditional model —- for example, the
division of its disciplines into faculties. But here other pitfalls await us.
When in 1520 the pope was denounced as Antichrist, he soon lost his
prerogative of legitimating universities in the Protestant countries. The
Emperor retained that prerogative for many more years in the countries
of the Empire; but the Empire went on losing territory until its bound-
aries were practically those of Germany. From then on, local rulers
acting as members of the Stande of the Holy Roman Empire, or govern-
ments of the municipal republics acting as sovereign, assumed the pre-
rogative of founding universities on their territory and granting them a
monopoly of degrees, or at least of higher education for their own sub-
jects. Both monopolies were disputed by their neighbours, and by the
higher authorities who could do nothing to stop them. Starting as a
fully-fledged studium generale, a university often became no more than
a territorial school.”* Its contemporaries were thus horribly confused
about its teaching level and the validity of its certificates of study or
diplomas. The innumerable travel guides or catalogues of universities of
the early modern period tried to clear up this confusion as best they
could. Most of these works contain also elements of the history of Euro-
pean universities; one of the first major scholarly works in this field was
H. Conring, De antiquitatibus academicis dissertationes sex (Helmstedt,
1651). It is remarkable that the genre of catalogues of universities was
particularly popular in those regions of Europe where the notion of a
university was unclear and a quality guide was badly needed. In Spain,
for example, this denominational problem did not exist.”’

21 The problem of the decline of the European universities in the eighteenth century is
briefly discussed in R. Chartier and J. Revel, ‘Université et société dans |?Europe mo-
derne: position des problémes’, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 25 (1978),
353-74; R. Chartier, ‘Student Populations in the Eighteenth Century’, The British Jour-
nal for Eighteenth-Century Studies, 2 (1979), 150-62.

22 P, Baumgart and N. Hammerstein (eds.), Beitrdge zu Problemen deutscher Universitats-
griindungen der friihen Neuzeit, Wolfenbiitteler Forschungen 4 (Nendeln/Liechtenstein,

1978). |
*? See A. Alvarez de Morales, ‘La universidad y sus denominaciones’, in M. Peset (ed.),
Universidades espafiolas y americanas. Epoca colonial (Valencia, 1987), 57-66. Among

ie!

Willem Frijhoff

THE STATUS OF HIGHER EDUCATION

From these lists we learn that the public of the time, although fully
recognizing the importance of the universities, which for them were insti-
tutions having the right to award degrees, took a broader view of higher
education. This, for them, was a matter of academic standards or, as we
should now say, university level. Schools that had never been entitled to
award degrees, or whose entitlement had been only very limited, but
whose level was recognized as sufficient or which themselves claimed
university status, were fairly easily placed on an equal footing with titu-
lar universities. Examples of this are the gymnasium academicum at Her-
born, the illustrious schools of Amsterdam or Deventer, the university
college of Braunsberg, the Jesuit schools of Milan and Palermo, the theo-
logical academies in the Swiss cantons (at Zurich, Berne and Lausanne)
and nearly all the university foundations in the eastern marches of cen-
tral Europe, which, with the exception of the Lutheran university at
Dorpat, the Catholic university in Vilnius and the national university in
Cracow, never had a clearly established university status.

Several old universities, headed by Cracow, enforced their territorial
monopoly by preventing later foundations from becoming fully-fledged
universities. Thus the schools at Chefmno, Poznai and many other
Polish cities were never more than outposts of Cracow University.*4 In
France the Jesuit university at Tournon had to close down after four
years (1626), yielding to the attacks of angry rivals. In 1756 Leiden
prevented the foundation of a Zeeland university at Zierikzee, and the
regency of that town retaliated by accusing the University of Leiden of
being — as indeed we have seen — an illegal foundation.” A century
before, in 1631/2, Amsterdam had ridden roughshod over Leiden’s
Opposition; it is extremely instructive to see from Amsterdam’s addresses
to the courts how acutely conscious it was of taking part in a European
movement of university foundations that included institutions of every
quality and every confession.*° England was still dominated by the jeal-
ous monopoly of the two universities at Oxford and Cambridge,
founded in the distant Middle Ages. There were attempts to improve the

the great number of early modern catalogues of universities see the list in the select
bibliography, pp. 107-8.

*4 There were altogether some thirty of those ‘academic colonies’, the first of which was
founded as a paedagogium in the very city of Cracow. They were of an utterly diverging
level, ranging from elementary to higher schooling. See W. Grzelecki, Szkoly-kolonie
Uniwersytetu Krakowskiego 1588-1773 (Wroclaw, 1986).

25 W. Frijhoff, “Zeelands universiteit: hoe vaak het mislukte, en waarom’, Archief Konin-
klijik Zeeuws Genootschap der Wetenschappen (1987), 7-41.

76 P. C. Molhuysen (ed.), Bronnen tot de geschiedenis der Leidsche universiteit, vol. 1
(The Hague, 1916), 214*-52*, 286*-9*.

Patterns

standard of education or make it more useful to society (the foundation
of the Inns of Court, the teaching of medicine by the College of
Physicians) and to decentralize higher education (the unsuccessful
attempts to found universities in Manchester, York and Durham
between 1640 and 1657, or among the religious groups, the celebrated
nonconformist academies of Warrington or Northampton); all of them
were confronted with the monopoly of Oxbridge and the Church of
England.

The gradual subdivision of the network of universities, and the restric-
tion of the competence and student population of the universities or
academies to particular territories, affected the mobility of students and
teachers and the prestige of studies or even university models. Sovereigns
were therefore able to forbid students to study abroad. This has to be
borne in mind when the influence of universities on society, and their
international prestige, are being assessed. With respect to the spread of
university models imitated by newly founded universities, there is a
marked trend in the early modern period towards what might be called
confessional families of universities, Lutheran, Calvinist or Catholic, and
within these, of national subfamilies. Sixteenth-century universities usu-
ally copied an older model (such as Paris, Bologna or Oxford) but them-
selves became models (in a form suited to the conditions of the time) for
new foundations of similar confessional allegiance in the same country.

Thus the Scottish universities (drastically reorganized in the second
half of the sixteenth century) are distinguishable from their Calvinist
counterparts in Holland by their collegiate structure — the college was in
fact the whole university — coupled with a purely administrative system
of faculties. The Spanish universities with their colleges are very different
from the French universities, in which the college system, where it
existed, had quite another function. The Spanish type of college-
university, being easily kept under the control of the authorities, was
perfectly well suited to the needs of a country whose frontiers were
expanding through reconquest, just as later, in the seventeenth and eight-
eenth centuries, the great semi-university colleges on the eastern frontiers
of Christian Europe would be. Finally, the university system reached its
highest pitch of complication when a supranational model, like that of
the Jesuit universities, was followed in all Catholic countries.

The above tentative definition raises a further issue: there was not yet,
in the early modern period, a clear-cut hierarchy of educational estab-
lishments. Hierarchies of this kind are often built up a posteriori by
historians, but do not always correspond to things as they were seen at
the time. In fact, the medieval university dispensed what we should now
call secondary education, and sometimes, indeed, primary education as
well, for all its institutionalized teaching (including the teaching of read-

Willem Frijboff

ing and writing from traditional texts) was in Latin. This explains the
prodigious numbers of arts students referred to in contemporary litera-
ture on the subject, numbers not entirely attributable to the notoriously
cavalier treatment of figures before the age of statistics. From the six-
teenth century onwards the numbers of students plummeted in many
formerly over-full universities. Those universities that did not adopt new
functions, such as training for employment in public bodies or state ser-
vice, appear to have been decimated.*’

Some contemporary observers thought this was an alarming crisis; but
perhaps it was merely a time of teething troubles. The situation becomes
clearer when it is realized that a new intellectual movement, humanism,
was producing the intermediate ‘secondary’ sector of education (the col-
lege of general education) which in turn defined the ‘upper’ level, the
‘high’ school, haute école, or Hochschule, as it began to be called in
some countries.*® Henceforth the level of teaching, rather than insti-
tutional structure (the universitas), was the hallmark of the university.

In other words, in the sixteenth century the old university split into
two parts. The first part was the network of colleges teaching the
humanities (or grammar schools), existing all over the territory and
attracting great numbers of pupils from the old arts faculties. Those
faculties lost most of their students in the early modern period, unless
they were able to absorb the colleges. Absorbing the colleges was pre-
cisely one of the strengths of the Sturmian university model taken over
by the Jesuits. The second part was the university stricto sensu, which
now assembled in a given centre only students training for certain
careers: science, teaching, the Catholic and Protestant clergy, the pro-
fessions (medicine and the law), and the civil service. In this teaching
scheme the arts curriculum was often merely propaedeutic. Where a col-
lege teaching the humanities, or a grammar school, was linked to the
university, a pedagogical distinction still remained; that is, the college of
general education (paedagogium) normally followed the modus Parisi-
ensis by basing the teaching on a progressive class system still prevailing
today, whereas the university still followed the system of rotating magis-
terial courses.

These changes profoundly affected higher education. More or less
gradually, but in the end nearly everywhere, the university virtually
ceased to teach general culture (a function taken over by the grammar
schools) and became an instrument for the training of an elite — although

27 Cf. L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Patterns of Attendance at the University of Paris, 1400-1800’,
The Historical Journal, 21 (1978), 503-44; revised version in Populations étudiantes,
vol. 1, 487-526.

28 M.-M. Compére, ‘Les colléges de |’Université de Paris au XVle siécle: structure insti-
tutionnelle et fonctions éducatives’, in I collegi universitari, 101-18; M.-M. Compére,
Du collége au lycée (1500-1850). Généalogie de l’enseignement secondaire francais
(Paris, 1985).

Patterns

law training may perhaps be considered as a new kind of general culture
of modern times. Smaller in size and more homogeneous than before, it
also became the apanage of the classes of society from which were drawn
the officials of church and state. The university then became a se-
minarium ecclesiae ac reipublicae, as it was sometimes called. German
universities have even been called ‘family universities’ in the seventeenth
century, because of the web of family ties between the teachers and the
extent to which they were drawn from the same class of society as their
students.” The pace of these changes was not everywhere the same, but
they show higher education’s influence on social mobility and the repro-
duction of the elite classes.

Grammar schools were, of course, still closely associated with the uni-
versities (and they continued for a long time to provide elementary teach-
ing in reading and writing). In many university towns the grammar
school remained linked to the university because members of the higher
classes of the school were regarded as part of the arts faculty and so
had to matriculate with the university. This should make us careful in
interpreting statistics for university students and information on their
age — many a student who seems to be a precocious genius may in fact
have been only a young schoolboy. Our main problem is, however, that
the influence on each other of educational structures of different levels
in a single institution makes it extremely difficult to say where secondary
education ends and higher education begins.

The difficulty is not removed by taking as a yardstick the discipline
covered. A university might, for example, be defined as an institution
having at least the four or five traditional faculties (arts or philosophy,
medicine, civil and/or canon law, and theology). But this might exclude
universities where teaching was not concentrated in formal faculties but
clustered around some professorial chairs — a simpler system providing
a speedier reply to demands for new kinds of teaching. It would also
exclude universities with only two faculties (arts and theology), as in
many Catholic universities, especially those of the religous orders. Even
universities of renown began as mere schools of theology (with a subsidi-
ary arts faculty for the propaedeutic teaching of philosophy, and some-
times, very much later, a skeletal faculty of medicine and a law school).
The demand for graduate physicians and highly trained lawyers was
necessarily limited by the extent to which a society of the ancien régime
could absorb all the highly qualified professionals, expecting a career
commensurate with their skills, that the university could turn out.

Conversely, neither St Petersburg Academy nor Moscow University
ever had a theological faculty or department. In Russia, theological
training remained firmly in the hands of the Orthodox Church, which

2? P. Moraw, Kleine Geschichte der Universitat Giessen 1607-1982 (Giessen, 1982).

Willem Frijhoff

had its own ecclesiastical academies at Kiev (1632) and Moscow (1687).
Thus from the very beginning, the influence of the church on the Russian
universities was very limited.

From the seventeenth century onwards, educated unemployment and
consequent social unrest became a leitmotiv of criticism of the univer-
sity.°° It was also accused of teaching out-of-date matters by out-of-date
methods. To be perfectly accurate, in the seventeenth century the alleged
surplus concerned mainly arts and letters and in the eighteenth century
the professional faculties. It may well be asked whether such a surplus
really existed, or whether it was merely an illusion due to changing ideas
of what should be the functions of a university, of the social and pro-
fessional hierarchy, of the kind of work an intellectual should do, and
indeed of the relation between intellectual work and otium (leisure).
Intellectuals were coming to be regarded as otiosi, with the derogatory
connotation of indolent, work-shy, and even parasites battening on
society. In the eighteenth century public opinion as we now know it
began to emerge. Powerful currents of opinion — mercantilism, physioc-
racy, the Enlightenment with its rehabilitation of manual work and of
the arts and letters -— were doubtless bringing mental turmoil. All the
same, this public controversy was the sign of the strong new feeling that
there should be a relationship between a successful career and advanced
training, and that this relationship had been allowed to lapse. To seven-
teenth- and eighteenth-century opinion it was obvious that the purpose
of universities should be to give training for a career.

To a great extent, the reforms carried out by the authorities in those
centuries had two aims in view. The first was to reduce the number of
university students (and, if need be, of universities) so as to strike a
balance between the numbers of university graduates and the ability of
society (or, as we should now say, the labour market) to absorb them.
The second was to amend university curricula to give better and more
practical training for the careers that society could offer at the time (or,
as we should now say, to start professionalizing higher education). This
subjection of the university to the demands of society did not fail to
arouse strong opposition. Indeed, in the Humboldtian view the univer-
sity was not to be subordinate to the demands of society; on the con-
trary, it was the special vocation of the university to cultivate knowledge.

3° 'W. Frijhoff, ‘Grandeur des nombres et miséres des réalités: la courbe de Franz Eulenburg
et le débat sur le nombre d’intellectuels en Allemagne, 1576-1815’, in Populations étu-
diantes, vol. 1, 23-63; R. Chartier, ‘Espace social et imaginaire social: les intellectuels
frustrés au XVIle siécle’, Annales. Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 37 (1982), 389-
400; D. Roche, ‘L’intellectuel au travail’, Annales. Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations,
37 (1982), 465-80, reprinted in D. Roche, Les Républicains des Lettres. Gens de culture
et Lumiéres au XVIIIe siécle (Paris, 1988), 225-41.

Patterns

THE UNIVERSITY AND ITS COMPETITORS

To recognize as universities only institutions with the traditional facul-
ties has the further disadvantage of creating a vicious circle, by refusing
to recognize any new addition to the curriculum as genuinely worthy of
a university. This tension, between the certainty of established values
and the risks of novelty, is of course common to all institutions; but
with institutions as inert aS many universities it may quickly become
critical and in the end cancel their academic value if they persist in refus-
ing to adapt their teaching to the new branches of knowledge emerging
in society, or to provide tuition in the new academic disciplines outlined
above. To such refusals are due the rise of alternative institutions like
the Collége royal de France in the early sixteenth century. The Collége
royal was opposed by the University of Paris and failed to become part
of the university, unlike the College of Three Languages in Louvain (also
a cradle of the new academic discipline of historical philology), which
in turn handed on the torch to Leiden.*’ Even in Leiden the time was
not yet ripe for adoption of another discipline, the exact sciences; the
school of mathematics and engineering founded in 1600 by Prince Mau-
rice on the model planned by Simon Stevin (1548-1620) remained out-
side the university as a mere second-rate appendage. Not until the exact
sciences were recognized as a new discipline did they become, after a
bitter struggle, a discipline taught in universities, and only in the eight-
eenth century were they allowed their due place in university teaching
stricto sensu, at first by the creation of specialized chairs and only much
later by the foundation of true faculties of science.

This does not mean that science was totally excluded from higher
education in the broad sense. In universities whose teaching was dis-
pensed from professional chairs, and even more in their flexibly
organized counterparts, the teaching academies (the illustrious schools,
Hochschulen and hautes écoles), the exact sciences were introduced as
and when they were needed. In the Scottish universities the Industrial
Revolution was aided by amendments to the curricula that encouraged
concerted action between industrialists and university teachers. Of
course, they belonged to the same families, but the deciding factor in
establishing this dialogue was probably that the Universities of Glasgow
and Edinburgh were in the heart of the industrial area. The contrast

31 P. S. Allen, ‘The Trilingual Colleges of the Early Sixteenth Century’, in P. S. Allen
(ed.), Erasmus. Lectures and Wayfaring Sketches (Oxford, 1934), 138-63; A. Lefranc,
Histoire du Collége de France depuis ses origines jusqu’a la fin du Premier Empire
(Paris, 1893); H. De Vocht, History of the Foundation and the Rise of the Collegium
Trilingue Lovaniense 1517-1550, 4 vols. (Louvain, 1951-5).

Willem Frijboff

between them and the English universities in their towns remote from
industrial and commercial activity is striking and significant.*”

The decisive influence came, however, from another movement that
in the long run seriously threatened the very idea of a university as an
evolving centre adopting new disciplines. This was the foundation of
specialized schools, each covering only a limited field of knowledge and
teaching its practical application and vocational training rather than
scientific research and general education. It would be tedious to list such
schools. They included specialized schools in surgery (The Hague 1637,
Paris 1724/31, etc.), artillery (Douai 1679, Woolwich 1741, Mannheim
1754, Oporto 1779, etc.), administration (Kaiserslautern 1779), veterin-
ary medicine (Lyons 1762, Turin 1769, Dresden 1774, etc.), engineering
(Moscow 1712, Vienna 1717, Méziéres 1749, etc.), agriculture
(Keszthely 1797), mining (Selmecbanya 1735/62, Freiberg 1765, St Pet-
ersburg 1773, Clausthal 1775, Paris 1783, etc.), oriental languages
(Naples 1732, Vienna 1753), and commerce (Hamburg 1768, Barcelona
1769). Such schools did not all cover disciplines to which the established
universities laid claim, but everywhere there was overlapping. Where
this was greatest, there could be a real struggle for mastery of the disci-
pline, as in Paris between the faculty of medicine and the Royal Academy
of Surgery throughout the eighteenth century.°°

It is doubtless no accident that the most ossified university system in
Europe on the eve of the revolutionary era, the French system, was dupli-
cated by a dense network of specialized schools. These were so efficient
that the French universities, when they were revived in the nineteenth
century after having been abolished in 1793, took the form of schools
teaching a single discipline (law, medicine, science, letters or theology)
which existed side by side but were not organically linked. Thus in Paris,
around the year 1790, there were schools, colleges or academies teaching
fine arts, surgery, natural history, military science, mining and civil
engineering. The foundation of the Ecole polytechnique in 1795 may
even be regarded as the overwhelming victory of an alternative view of
higher education, as the French universities were abolished between
those two dates.”

32 Cf. R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner (eds.), The Origins and Nature of the Scottish
Enlightenment (Edinburgh, 1982); R. B. Sher, Church and University in the Scottish
Enlightenment. The Moderate Literati of Edinburgh (Princeton, N.J., 1985).

°° T. Gelfand, Professionalizing Modern Medicine. Paris Surgeons and Medical Science
and Institutions in the 18th Century (Westport, Conn./London, 1980). On technical
education in France: F. B. Artz, ‘L’¢ducation technique en France 1700-1789’, Revue
d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 13 (1938), 361-407.

4D. Julia, Les Trois Couleurs du tableau noir: la Révolution (Paris, 1981); T. Shinn,
Savoir scientifique et pouvoir social: l’Ecole Polytechnique, 1794-1914 (Paris, 1980);
J. Langins, La République avait besoin de savants. Les débuts de I’Ecole Polytechnique:

Patterns

Paris is very far from being the only example of the replacement of the
university by specialized teaching institutions. Moreover, the specialized
schools of the eighteenth century could claim that they were the heirs
of an older tradition, for the theological seminaries founded following
the Tridentine Decrees, and the academies for noblemen, were also, fun-
damentally, specialized schools, like their predecessors the schools of
surgery of sixteenth-century Italy. The list of establishments of higher
education and specialized schools in some of the larger cities of the
German Empire at the end of the period under review (see table 2.1)
clearly shows the great extent and diversity of this sector.*°

Side by side with universities, or colleges having a near-university
superstructure (i.e., classes in philosophy and theology for future teach-
ers and clergymen), there were theological seminaries open to a wide
section of the public, and internal seminaries of religious orders. There
was also a flourishing sector of education intended for noblemen and
future army officers (to all intents and purposes, the same class of
society) and a wide range of specialized schools teaching subjects until
then rejected for various reasons by the universities as such.

In the last resort, the rise of the specialized schools cast doubt upon
the usefulness of universities. Would this explain the extremely late foun-
dation of a university in Russia, where there had hitherto been higher
education only in the liberal arts and theology? As a matter of fact, with
the necessity of the economic development of Russia in mind, Peter the
Great conceived the idea of a Russian university as early as 1698/9,
after his travels in Europe.*® But significantly, the first Russian teaching
institution of university standard (St Petersburg, 1724) followed the
model of the academies of sciences; it was not the traditional faculty
system but the modern division of the old and new sciences that deter-
mined its teaching structure. Besides, following the Prussian example,
the first full university in Russia (Moscow, 1755) relied heavily on the
public service and emphasized training for the professions. It was in
fact merely a collection of specialized schools existing side by side with
non-university schools providing vocational training (in theology, agric-
ulture and the fine arts) and military academies. Diderot was making no
mistake when, in his Plan d’une université pour le gouvernement de
Russie (1775) commissioned by the Empress Catherine, he urged that
teaching programmes should extend beyond the minimum requirements

Ecole Centrale des Travaux Publics et les cours révolutionnaires de l’an III (Paris,

1987).

35> Compiled from K. Goldmann, Verzeichnis der Hochschulen (Neustadt an der Aisch,
1967).

36 P, Pekarsky, Istoria imperatorskoy academii nauk v Petersburge, vol. 1: Zhizneopisaniye
presidentov i chlenov Academii nauk, vsupivshikh v neyo 1725-1742 godakh (St Peters-
burg, 1870), xvii.

Table 2.1 Higher education facilities in selected large towns of the Holy Roman Empire before 1800'

Vienna

Prague Berlin Munich Dresden Stuttgart
University Ultraquist 1347 (founded 1810) _— (transferred from 1365 = 1781-94
Jesuit 1558 united Landshut 1826)
Episcopal 1635 1654 — — Hungarian 1623 — —
Theological seminaries Norbertian 1635-1776 Piarist 1751
Benedictine 1683
Studia generalia of the Dominican 1625-1785 — Capuchin 1600 Dominican 1401 — —
religious orders Cistercian 1756 Franciscan 1619 Carmelite 1385
Augustinian Cistercian
(18th c.) 1385-1623
Gymnasium academicum Jesuit 1556 Kolln 1579 1597/8 Jesuit 1558 — —_
(state 1773) Joachimsthal 1607 (1623 merged
French 1684 with the
university)
Gymnasium illustre Lutheran 1609-20 — — Loéwenburg 1748 1724 1685
Colleges of Nobles 1744-45 1705-23 — Jesuit 1565 18th c =
(Benedictine) 1765 States 1693-1748
Theresianum 1746
Emanuelum 1749
Cadet school — 1701 1778-90 1760 1692 _
Military academy — — 1790 1752 _ 1770 (1775)
Specialized schools and
academies
medicine and 1778-91 1724 1772 1775 1710; 1748 —
surgery (military 1797)
veterinary science — 1790 1790 1767 1780 —
fine arts 1799 1694 1770 1692 1705; 1764 1761-4
civil and military
engineering 1718 1776 1780 T7117 1742 —
artillery — — — 1778 1716 —
mining —_ 1770 — — — =
forestry —- 1770 1790 “= — 1772
architecture — 1799 — — —_ —
commerce — 1791 —- 1770 — 1779
administration — — = 1763 = ae
oriental languages — — — 1753 _ -_—

Isolated dates are those of the beginning of permanent institutional teaching.

Patterns

of the bureaucracy of the day. In fact, the University of Moscow was
founded not so much to improve the quality of teaching but because the
government wanted to free itself from dependence on local or regional
recruitment; the state wanted to be free to choose its officials, train them
and have them at its beck and call.°’

The difficulty of defining a university will now be apparent. The uni-
versities of the early modern period gradually restricted their scope,
through their own inertia or lack of public interest, or by a voluntarily
restrictive policy of defending a particular scientific paradigm, or for
socio-cultural reasons (to reproduce, or limit the numbers of, elites). This
fact would be less relevant in a purely institutional study concerned, like
so many in the history of the universities, solely with the scope claimed
by the universities themselves.

The present work has other ambitions. It proposes to study the
relations between the university and society, how they have influenced
each other or, more exactly, their interplay. We therefore have to take
a long hard look at the university as an institution, and consider how
far it has achieved its ambitions or lived up to its standards, and whether
it has really taken to heart the demands and criticism of a society (or
its cultivated minority), or of the social groups directly concerned. We
have to observe the whole range of teaching that is possible in any
society, and assess the extent to which the universities have tried to
dominate it and with what success, or have allowed it to slip from their
grasp into the hands of other providers of education more attractive to
church and state, or to families, elites, cities or professions.

This brings us to the fourth part of the definition of a university,
namely the sanction of teaching through the award of diplomas or
degrees. This is where the university has been most successful in
defending the monopoly conferred upon it by the supreme authorities.
Certain professions (those of doctor, lawyer, and judge of appeal) could
not be exercised without a university degree. University professors were
expected to take a degree before they could teach, but it was often
awarded to them honoris causa when they took up their duties. The
university of the early modern period then became above all a training
centre in law and medicine, much more than in the Middle Ages, when
these were merely marginal upper faculties of a university usually

37 Cf. J. C. McClelland, Autocrats and Academics. Education, Culture and Society in Tsar-
ist Russia (Chicago, Ill./London, 1979), 5-28; Donnert, La Russie (note 15), 54-96. For
the influence of early modern European university models and science on the scientific
institutions of central and eastern Europe, see R. G. Plaschka and K. Mack (eds.), We-
genetz europdischen Geistes. Wissenschaftszentren und geistige Wechselbeziehungen
zwischen Mittel- und Siidosteuropa vom Ende des 18. Jahrhundert bis zum Ersten
Weltkrieg, Schriftenreihe des d6sterreichischen Ost- und Siidosteuropa-Instituts, 8
(Munich, 1983).

Willem Frijhoff

oppressed by the burden of a swollen arts faculty. It therefore became
possible to distinguish between the more theoretical study of law at uni-
versities stricto sensu and the more practical study of law intended for
students who did not need a degree (secretaries, solicitors, notaries and
subordinate officials). These people could now study more cheaply than
by travelling to a distant university and spending long years in a univer-
sity city; they would only have to sit for a competitive examination for
employment. The same sometimes applied to theological studies, for
which a university degree’s importance varied according to country, con-
fession and the employment desired. The issue here is the changing
relationship between training and the required qualifications for employ-
ment. It was the effectus civilis of diplomas as a key to employment,
rather than the standard of teaching, that sometimes decided the direc-
tion taken by a university and its students. In the eighteenth century,
when enlightened despots imposed a mumerus clausus on entry into the
professions, the effectus civilis in itself was not enough. As well as an
academic diploma, it was becoming the general practice to require a
certificate of capacity, parsimoniously granted and taking the form of a
competitive examination or a certificate of ability to teach in institutes
of higher education, a professional entrance examination, and so on.

This practice had two results. The first was that, as from the end of the
fifteenth century, aided by humanist ideals, the training of all engaged in
the cultural affirmation of the religious and political elites steadily
improved in the early modern period.*® The second was that the general
level of education of the whole population rose. This was because the
clergy, and schoolmasters and government officials, were now being seen
less as holders of prebends and offices than as servants of a community —
the parish, the church, local government or the state. As a result, edu-
cation for service in them gradually became more utilitarian and more
adapted to the needs of the whole population.

These two features explain the avalanche of university or semi-
university foundations, or of foundations of institutions of higher
education, many of them outside the university network with its cumber-
some organization and its autonomy. The new foundations were not
easily subjugated by the universities and indeed were sometimes founded
as an alternative to them. Church and state vied with each other in

33 W. Frijhoff, ‘L’Etat et l’éducation (XVIe—XVIle siécle): une perspective globale’, in
J. C. Maire Vigueur and C. Pietri (eds.), Culture et idéologie dans la genése de |’Etat
moderne. Actes de la table ronde organisée par le CNRS et I’Ecole francaise de Rome,
Rome, 15-17 octobre 1984, Bibliothéque de |’Ecole francaise (Rome, 1985), 99-116;
C. Tilly (ed.), The Formation of National States in Western Europe (Princeton, N.]J.,
1975); G. Geison (ed.), Professions and the French State, 1700-1900 (Philadelphia,
1984); P. Lundgreen, Sozialgeschichte der deutschen Schule im Uberblick, vol. 1: 1770-
1918 (Gottingen, 1980), 26-52.

Patterns

founding intermediate or marginal institutions of a new kind. Spurred
by the Protestant Reform or the famous decree of the Council of Trent
(1563), European countries built up a dense network of theological
seminaries and schools of theology: the Swiss and Huguenot academies,
the Dutch illustrious schools, the Spanish convent-universities or college-
universities, the French colleges of general education (colléges de plein
exercice) with their courses in philosophy and theology, and the German
gymnasia illustria with their semi-university superstructure comprising
up to four embryonic faculties.*° The existence of a vast network of
theological seminaries in the Catholic parts of Europe, outside the
universities, makes any comparison between the recruitment and the
teaching of the Catholic and Protestant faculties of theology extremely
difficult. In eighteenth-century Poland, for example, virtually all the-
ology teaching was done outside the university, either at Jesuit schools
or at episcopal seminaries. Another problem, which we can only mention
here, is to know how many members of the religious orders achieved
their philosophical and theological education in the schools of their own
congregation (the so-called studia particularia) or even inside the walls
of their institution.

All these institutions owed their being to policies of expanding higher
education by making it, and all the services that teaching could render,
more readily available, and of keeping a tighter rein on religious person-
nel and officials (civil servants, letrados) by stricter control of the level
and content of teaching. Such schools were rivals of the universities
because they undoubtedly threatened the universities’ traditional field of
recruitment; but they also served a wide new clientele outside, uninflu-
enced by the old-style university. Without doubt this rivalry often had
a positive effect on the quality of the teaching offered by the university,
on its willingness to innovate and its ability to adapt itself to changing
conditions. It is no accident that the foremost universities of the early
modern period were always at the heart of a dense network of rival
institutions — in northern Italy, Lower Germany, the United Provinces
and Scotland. '

We have therefore to weigh up the value and density of the insti-
tutional network, measure its successes and failures, and even try to find
out why some educational foundations came to nothing. We have to

39 J. O’Donohoe, Tridentine Seminary Legislation. Its Sources and its Formation (Louvain/
Boston, Mass., 1957); H. Tiichle, ‘Das Seminardekret des Tridentiner Konzils und die
Formen seiner geschichtlichen Verwirklichung’, Theologische Quartalschrift, 144
(1964), 12-30.

4° See for example the map of the seminaries and the chairs in philosophy at the French
colléges in 1789, in D. Julia, H. Bertrand, S. Bonin and A. Laclau (eds.), Atlas de la
Révolution francaise, vol. u: L’Enseignement 1760-1815 (Paris, 1987), 71. Further:
A. Degert, Histoire des séminaires francais jusqu’a la Révolution, 2 vols. (Paris, 1912).

Willem Frijhoff

consider the alternatives that the social and cultural movement brought
‘to life in higher education - the hautes écoles, whose function was to
teach; the academies of nobles and priests’ seminaries, which also con-
tinued the universities’ socializing function; and the academies in the
modern sense of the term, which handed on knowledge whilst the uni-
versities were becoming professionalized or turning into hidebound
institutions.

TYPOLOGIES

These considerations are unavoidably all too general, but they do suggest
some features of a typology of the institutions dealt with in this volume.
But two preliminary and limiting observations are nevertheless
necessary.

The first is that universities were developing differently in different
countries, and that the national cultures emerging in the early modern
period were also very different from each other. Comprehensive descrip-
tion is therefore difficult. The universities took distant examples as their
model, but in fact they tended to follow examples close at hand. We
may fairly describe as national university subcultures those that grew
up in Spain, Scotland, Switzerland, Lower Germany and the United
Provinces. Leiden University based its statutes on Louvain, but was in
fact more like its Calvinist sisters, all of which stemmed from John
Sturm’s Strasburg model. In other words, the formal model of the uni-
versity in the early modern period tells us little about its actual
organization.

The second observation affecting our typology is that state inter-
vention restricted the freedom of action of founders and administrators.
Strangely enough, this restored something of a family likeness to the
universities of the age of enlightened despots, by standardizing their
relations with applicants for education.

University typology can be approached in many ways. All of them
shed light on a particular feature of the complex socio-cultural system,
the higher education network, but do not exhaust it. From the sole angle
of statutory organization, the traditional distinction is between the Pari-
sian model, in which the university was made up of masters and students
but dominated by the masters, the students being only members
(suppositi) of the university, and the Bolognese model, in which the stud-
ents formed the university and recruited the teachers. Where there were
already ancient Bologna-style universities, they lived on in the early
modern period, but this model was clearly a thing of the past. The
church was weaker than of old, the state stronger. This made virtually
impossible any attempt by students to organize themselves; in the univer-

Patterns

sities of the early modern period, power was exercised by the masters
sitting as a senate, or by the ruler’s representatives. The university was
founded and controlled by the public authorities.

There was not really anything new in this. The Paris model was still
the more usual one, but now it took three forms:

(a) the university of teachers, based on the system of faculties with
centralized teaching, grouping teachers by disciplines and awarding
degrees precisely describing their content; the structure itself tended
to train specialists;

(b) the collegiate or tutorial university based on the Oxford model, in
which teaching was decentralized and there were numerous com-
munities organized for daily living and comprising both masters
and students. There was still a system of faculties, but this kind of
university was more conducive to ‘generalist’? knowledge;

(c) the intermediate model (the college-university), combining the
advantages of central organization and the collegiate system, and
adding to them the advantage of small size, which made for more
effective control of students and studies at little cost. These compact
little universities, centralized in a single block of buildings of semi-
monastic architecture, appeared in various forms all over Europe,
particularly on its edges — in Scotland, Ireland, Spain, Germany and
its eastern marches. This was the ideal kind of university for a ruler
wanting to extend his control of the university system.

From the angle of study organization, the important thing is the appear-
ance of new models that, like Colleges of Three Languages, were descend-
ants of the humanist schools of the Netherlands. They taught mainly
liberal arts, rejecting applied arts as inappropriate to universities. One of
the most influential of these models was drawn up by John Sturm for Stras-
burg in 1538. It had a two-tier structure: a school of the humanities with a
progressive class system and a semi-university superstructure teaching the
liberal arts from a system of university chairs giving rotating courses of
instruction.*’ This model was intended to promote a sapiens et eloquens
pietas (learned and eloquent piety), and was adopted by the Calvinists, and
later by the Jesuits, although the college (the Latin school, paedagogium)
gradually drifted apart from the university. The university chair system
was still the essence of the reform introduced by Philip Melanchthon

1 A. Schindling, Humanistische Hochschule und Freie Reichsstadt. Gymnasium und Aka-
demie in StraSburg 1538-1621 (Wiesbaden, 1977); N. Hammerstein, ‘Bildungsge-
schichtliche Traditionszusammenhange zwischen Mittelalter und friiher Neuzeit’, in Der
Ubergang zur Neuzeit und die Wirkung von Traditionen. Vortrage gehalten auf der
Tagung der Joachim Jungius Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, Hamburg 13. u. 14.
Oktober 1977 (G6ttingen, 1978), 32ff.; G. Codina Mir, Aux sources de la pédagogie des
Jésuites. Le ‘modus Parisiensis’, Bibliotheca Instituti Historici S. I., 28 (Rome, 1968).

Willem Frijhoff

(1497-1560), known as the ‘preceptor of Germany’, which was adopted
in varying degrees by all the Lutheran universities.*

Another widely adopted model was the seminary-university, again in
Spain, Italy, Germany and Poland. It was, of course, part of the religious
reforms and was intended particularly for students of philosophy and
theology. But its spirit extended further, and it would hardly be an exag-
geration to regard the University of Douai, which was founded on the
Louvain statutes, as a single large Counter-Reformation seminary.

Clearly, study organization to some extent determines how open-
minded the university is in practice, how willing it is to welcome new
ideas, or better still, to incorporate them in its teaching. A rigid faculty
system, as in Catholic Spain, had to show great flexibility at times to
adopt new disciplines. Where the faculty structure was less rigid, as in
Germany, it was easier to reorganize it, especially if the university was
organized on the principle of university chairs. In fact the professorial
chair system in the model first devised by John Sturm, and in Claude
Baduel’s model at Nimes (1540) which shaped the Huguenot academies,
encouraged the teaching of new disciplines and also a tendency to specia-
lization.*? Thus the introduction in Scotland of the professorial chair
system did much to ensure the success of new disciplines.

Here we come to the intermediate area: many semi-university illustri-
ous schools had a number of chairs which made them in effect a faculty,
but they had no wish for full university status. As these schools could
not award degrees, some universities were encouraged to make the
awarding of degrees an end in itself. The national Polish University at
Cracow is a typical example; here was a single university holding a mon-
opoly of higher education and of the awarding of degrees, but decentral-
izing actual teaching so that it was done in many university ‘colonies’
all over the country, which were controlled by the mother institution.

Universities can still be identified in the traditional way, by the nature
of their founder. Here caution is necessary: in the early modern period
the founder may have only a remote relationship with the community
actually directing the university. Evora University, for example, was a
royal Portuguese foundation but was run by the Jesuits on their supra-
national model. In the early modern period founders of universities were
many and various. Beside the pope, the emperor and the sovereign, who
were the traditional founders, founders of universities included regional

“ K. Hartfelder, Philipp Melanchthon als Praeceptor Germaniae (Berlin, 1889; reprint
Nieuwkoop, 1964); G. Miller, ‘Philipp Melanchthon zwischen Paddagogik und
Theologie’, in Reinhard (ed.), Humanismus im Bildungswesen (note 2), 95-106. Cf.
also W. Flaschendrager, ‘... mocht geschehenn ... gutte reformation der universit-
etenn ... — Zu Luthers Wirken als Professor und als Universitatsreformer’, Jahrbuch
fiir Regionalgeschichte, 10 (1983), 26-36.

43M. J. Gaufrés, Claude Baduel et la réforme des études au XVIe siécle (Paris, 1880).

Patterns

rulers as in Germany, religious orders, local communities (in Catalonia,
the United Provinces and Germany) and even local magnates such as the
duke of Gandia, the count-duke of Osuna, and Counsellor Jan Zamoyski
(at Zamos¢). Nevertheless, as the early modern period wore on, this
freedom of initiative seems to have declined; the sovereign or the public
authorities recovered their supremacy and destroyed the supranational
educational models advanced by the churches and the religious orders.

No more need be said about distinguishing between universities by
their confession; but as well as different confessions there were differ-
ences in the degree of strictness with which universities observed their
confessional peculiarities. Thus there is a notable difference between
clerical and lay universities, the former remaining for a long time intoler-
ant in matters of confession and the latter virtually non-confessional in
spite of the oath imposed on their professors. The most flagrant case is
that of the United Provinces, where the universities always succeeded
(though in different degrees) in avoiding dominance by the Reformed
Church, while paying lip-service to it and training its clergymen. In Ger-
many a few universities were obliged by the frequent change of con-
fessional frontiers to practise a form of biconfessionalism; thus Erfurt,
Rinteln, Heidelberg and Frankfurt-on-Oder, like Nimes and Orange in
France, were for a shorter or longer time officially biconfessional. As a
general rule, however, there was rivalry between the confessions,
especially in those towns where several officially tolerated religions vied
for primacy in teaching, as in Bremen, Graz, Linz and Maastricht. Riv-
alry became less acute in the eighteenth century, because the universities
concentrated on specialist teaching and state service. At the end of the
ancien régime the issue of confession was no longer very important. By
then even Jewish students, who had at first been relegated to a few
chosen universities, had a wide choice of universities open to them.**

Universities can also be classified by their dominant functions in
society. There were five major functions of this kind, namely:

(a) to provide education as part of the life cycle; this function was often
the most important one at universities having a large arts faculty;

(b) to provide a general education;

(d) to form an elite — the function of socialization;

(e) the custodial function, that is, to teach in a community the disci-
pline of a way of life; this was done especially by the collegiate
university.

“4 See chapter 7, notes 37-40.

Willem Frijhoff

Taking all these typological distinctions together it is possible to define
a few major types of university institutions. In the first place, there was
a distinction between the official network of universities and the de facto
network. Strictly speaking, the only universities ipso jure were those
founded by the pope and the emperor; but who founded the jus itself?
From the strict letter of the law, it could be argued that any university
not founded by the pope or the emperor was not a genuine university.
This argument would at once disqualify most of the Calvinist universities
and some others. It was undoubtedly used by ancien régime legitimists,
but this was by now completely unrealistic. That being so, universities
in the strict sense of the term could be defined as all institutions of higher
education which regarded themselves as universities, and had been
recognized or legitimated as such by the de facto supreme authority in
the territory by its granting the right to award degrees. The institutions
that fulfil these requirements appear on the list at the end of the chapter.

A broader definition of universities would include two other kinds of
institution: first the teaching academies, higher or illustrious schools, or,
as they were called in the German Empire, gymnasia (illustria et partim)
academica; that is, all establishments which by reason of their organiz-
ation and the quality of their teaching could claim university status, but
had not obtained all its privileges, especially that of awarding degrees.
The very existence of such institutions led some universities, as a sideline
to their regular teaching, to specialize in the award of a cheap degree
to students who had studied elsewhere or not at all. Bourges, Duisburg,
Harderwijk, Valence, Reims, Venice and particularly Orléans acquired
the unenviable reputation of selling degrees — a reputation not destroyed
even by the vigorous action of some of the authorities. Institutions in
this second group could be further divided into those fully organized as
universities and those with only one or two ‘faculties’ (a term here used
analogously rather than accurately) or with only professorial chairs. In
the course of time many of the fully-fledged higher schools (for example
Strasburg, Innsbruck, Breslau, Jena and Harderwijk) obtained the right
to award degrees, but others (Herborn, Hanau, Hamm, Steinfurt,
Lingen, Bremen and Hamburg) were never more than ‘illustrious
schools’ with four ‘faculties’, although many of them were famous far
beyond the borders of their country. Institutions having only a few
faculties or chairs appear to have been less widely known, but were
nevertheless part of a coherent network traceable in the various stages
of teachers’ careers or students’ studies. Some institutions, such as the
schools in Nice, Linz, Messina and Milan which for various reasons had
obtained limited rights of award, did not pursue their development to
the end but stayed at an intermediate stage between the teaching acad-
emy and the full university.

Patterns

The Jesuit faculties of this kind are a special case. They were normally
incomplete universities, having only an arts faculty with a three-year
course of study, and a faculty of theology having a complete four-year
course, but entitled by papal privilege (Paul IV, 1556/61) to award first
degrees.*° Some of these institutions did become full universities. At Olo-
mouc, for example, founded as a teaching academy in 1570 through
transformation of a Jesuit college, the chairs in arts and theology were
promoted to faculties, and given the right to confer degrees in 1581, so
that henceforth the academy may be regarded as a university ipso jure.
The faculty of law was, however, founded only in 1670, and the faculty
of medicine in 1753. The Jesuit University of Bamberg is a second
notable example. Bamberg theological seminary, founded in 1586, was
handed over to the Jesuits in 1611. In 1648 they turned it into an acad-
emy having the right to award degrees; faculties of law and medicine
were added in 1735. Although the title of university was conferred only
in 1773, after the departure of the Jesuits, Bamberg has to be classed as
a de jure university from 1648.

The third type of institution, hardly distinguishable from a secondary
school, was probably the most frequent one, although no inventory of
such schools has yet been made for all of Europe. This was the college
teaching the humanities, and with them a course in philosophy and the-
ology in the form of propaedeutic classes for university entrance or
merely as an elementary form of higher education, that lower grade
ecclesiastics had to make do with before residential seminaries with
courses in the ecclesiastical disciplines became the rule. This kind of
institution can doubtless be classified together with most seminaries,
which similarly have not been fully catalogued.”

This tripartite hierarchy is in fact much more complex because there
are many intermediate forms which, to complicate matters, differ from
one country to another. Many of these intermediate forms are of only
local interest, and they cannot all be described here. But this hierarchy
of types contains still other hierarchies, such as that of social prestige
because of the quality of the students, or cultural prestige conferred by
the high reputation of the teachers. Some academies not authorized to
award degrees (such as Herborn or Amsterdam) enjoyed in certain per-
iods greater prestige than many universities; and within the network of

* Hengst, Jesuiten; M. Batllori, ‘Les universités et les colléges jésuites du XVle au XVIIIe
siécle’, CRE-Information, 72 (1985), 61-73, for a clear typology; G. P. Brizzi, ‘Strategie
educative e istituzioni scolastische della Controriforma’, in Letteratura italiana, vol. 1
(Turin, 1982), 899-920.

*© For a typology of the French seminaries, see D. Julia, ‘L’éducation des ecclésiastiques
en France aux XVIle et XVIlle siécles’, in Problémes d’histoire de l’éducation. Actes des
séminaires organisés par l’Ecole francaise de Rome et l’ Universita di Roma-La Sapienza
(janvier-mai 1985) (Rome, 1988), 141-205, esp. 142-9.

Willem Frijhoff

universities certain types of universities, such as the Jesuit network, were
also outstanding.

THE PACE OF UNIVERSITY FOUNDATION

The university network underwent great changes in the early modern
period, some of which have already been touched on above. It is, how-
ever, important to give some idea now of the general development of
the network as a whole. That development explains some of the vicissi-
tudes of the European university system in the early modern period. An
attempt has therefore been made to represent the development of the
university network at fifty-year intervals on a set of maps (see pp. 91-
8), together with an overview of the situation at the beginning of this
period in 1500, and towards its end in 1790, just before the great wave
of abolitions and reorganization of universities in the revolutionary era.
The summary indication of these changes in the last map foreshadows
the upheavals to be chronicled in the next volume of this work. Where
vanished universities have been restored or moribund ones remodelled,
they are included as well as new foundations, because they show the
vigour of the university spirit. At the same time semi-university insti-
tutions not entitled to award degrees are shown as examples, where they
could be identified from reliable sources, by smaller signs. Needless to
say, this category is undoubtedly incomplete.*’

It must be remembered that the roots of the university go back to the
high Middle Ages. The first map, representing the network existing in
1500, shows this clearly. There were many foundations in Italy and
France (where quite a number of short-lived foundations had already
disappeared), and in Aragon. These were the three great cultural regions
of the Middle Ages, a period whose culture was essentially of Mediter-
ranean origin. There were still only few universities in territories of more
recent importance. The map shows especially the inertia of a system in
the hands of the establishment. At the same time one can see the early
influence, in the foundations of 1450-1500, of the new humanist philos-
ophy. This was especially marked in the German and Scandinavian
countries (at Basle, Freiburg, Tiibingen, Copenhagen and Uppsala) and
also in France (Bourges and Valence) and Spain. In Spain the drive
southwards shows the growing dominance of the Catholic authorities
over the reconquered provinces. The map for 1501-50 shows this very
clearly; the advance marks a cultural offensive exemplified by the Jesuit
University of Gandia founded expressly to train the newly converted

4” The sources of these lists of universities and semi-universities are given in the select
bibliography hereafter.

Patterns

Table 2.2 Number of universities founded and abolished between 1500

and 1790
Universities founded, Universities
restored and modelled abolished,
SSS Sx. transferred
Period Catholic Protestant Total and merged
I5OI-1§50 22 4 26 3
I§ 51-1600 31 16 47 3
I601I-1650 14 Io 24 3
1651-1700 5 7 12 12
1701-1750 IO 2 12 r3
1751-1790 13 3 16 16
Total 95 42 137 50

Moriscos of the kingdom of Valencia, and to supervise their intellectual
development.

In respect of universities stricto sensu (that is to say the duly recog-
nized institutions entitled to award degrees), it is clear from table 2.2
that over the whole period from 1500 to 1800 there were fluctuations
in the number of new foundations, which by about 1650 appears to
have reached saturation point. Thereafter the number of foundations
was balanced by the number of abolitions, and transfers to other
locations often indicated attempts to rationalize the system by bringing
the university under closer control by the central authority, as in Besan-
con, Strasburg, Nancy and Budapest. In university foundations two
‘offensives’ are discernible: a Catholic offensive beginning in the early
sixteenth century, and somewhat later a Protestant one. The Protestant
offensive seems altogether to have ended sooner than the Catholic one,
and to have affected a smaller area. Beginning with the Lutheran foun-
dation of Marburg in 1527, the Protestant network grew up over the
next 150 years, mainly through the foundation of gymnasia academica
and illustrious schools. This happened first in Switzerland and Germany,
then in France (where all the Huguenot academies except Orange were
abolished even before the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685),*°
and then farther afield: in the British Isles (in England the invincible
Oxbridge monopoly concealed the vigour of the Protestant
nonconformists), Scandinavia, the United Provinces, and (under Swedish
influence) the Baltic countries.

This Protestant offensive was partly due to the principle of terri-
toriality, as is shown by Sweden’s active policy of founding universities

“8 P. D. Bourchenin, Etudes sur les académies protestantes en France aux XVle et XVIle
siécles (Paris, 1882).

Willem Frijhoff

in the countries it occupied during the Thirty Years War. It is shown
even more clearly in German Hesse; at the partition of Hesse in 1605
Marburg University became Calvinist and a new Lutheran university.
was accordingly founded in Giessen (1607). A second partition led to
the foundation of Kassel as a Calvinist college (1627/33) and the merger
of Giessen with Marburg, which was now once again a Lutheran univer-
sity, in 1625. Finally, an ultimate political and religious reshuffle led to
Lutheran Giessen being separated from Marburg (which had reverted to
Calvinism) and the abolition of the now superfluous Calvinist college of
Kassel in 1653. The history of the universities, powerful instruments of
religious and cultural policy, is thus shown to be closely linked with the
confessional organization of political territories.

At the same time the Catholic offensive gathered strength under the
combined influence of the Reconquista and the economic development
of the empire of Spain (which from the sixteenth century onwards
exported its university models to its colonies), the Catholic reform fol-
lowing the Council of Trent, and the drive to the east. Table 2.3 shows
university foundations in the countries of the Holy Roman Empire at
its greatest extent: most of the universities and gymmnasia academica,
whether Protestant or Catholic, date from between 1551 and 1650.
Later universities are hardly more than upgraded existing academies.
The network was already there, and only the teaching level of its insti-
tutions would vary later. The Calvinist network quite quickly ceased to
expand. Only the Jesuit offensive continued well into the eighteenth cen-
tury, as the map on p. 100 shows.

That map clearly indicates a two-pronged policy. First the Society of
Jesus was introduced into the existing network in the countries that were
still Catholic, by absorbing the Jesuit colleges into the university or
incorporating their faculties. Secondly, universities or semi-universities
were systematically founded on the fringe of the area threatened by Prot-
estantism, as a sort of rampart or shield. The Jesuits were, however,
much less active on the frontiers of Islam. They were in no hurry to take
the place of the Turks in the territories evacuated by them after 1683.
Moreover, Jesuit influence was on the wane by the end of the eighteenth
century. In central Europe other modern congregations took over from
them in the educational system, but without following the university
model. Previously, and elsewhere in Europe, things had gone differently,
as the microcosm of Sardinia shows. At the beginning of the seventeenth
century, the civil authorities were planning to found a university in Cag-
liari, but were dragging their feet. They were overtaken by the bustling
Jesuits, who, encouraged by Sassari, the rival of Cagliari, added chairs
of theology, medicine, civil law and canon law, one after the other, to
the college for the teaching of the humanities that they had founded in

£Z

Table 2.3 University foundations in the Holy Roman Empire (including Switzerland and the Netherlands) and
eastern Europe

I§OI— 1§26- I15§51- 1§76- I601I- 1626- 1651- 1676- I170I- 1726- I75I- 1776-

25 50 75 1600 25 50 75 1700 25 50 75 1800 — Total
Catholic foundations
universities’ = — 6(2) 3 (1) 3 2 3 (2) — 2(2) I(r) 2(2) I(r) 2§(11)
academies, gymnasia academica, 2 I 6 5 8 4 6 3 4 3 I I 44
etc.
Lutheran foundations
universities’ — 2 1(1) I 4(3) 1(r) 3(z) 2 — 2(2) I 1(1) 18(9)
gymnasia academica I 7 4° 8 7 8 6 5 4 3 I 56
Calvinist foundations
universities’ — — 2 I I 3(3) 2(2) — — = — — 9(5)
illustrious schools, gymnasia — a I 6 8 II 2, 3 I — — — 35
academica, etc.
Total
universities’ 2 2 9(3) §(t) 8(3) 6(4) = 8(5) 2 2(2) -3(3) —3(2) (2) § 2(25)
others 2 II II 19 23 23 14 II 9 6 3 2 135

In brackets, the number of such universities originating as gymnasia academica, etc.
*Wittenberg and Frankfurt/Oder, both of which became Lutheran.

3One of which (Marburg) became Calvinist in 1605.

*One of which (Diisseldorf) became Jesuit in 1621.

‘Ditto (Neuburg/Danube) in 1617.

Willem Frijboff

Sassari in 1559/62. In 1612 the General of the Order granted the right
to award degrees, and this was confirmed by the king of Spain in 1617.
Cagliari, jealous of such vitality, finally opened its university in 1626,
but it languished and faded away in 1679 or thereabouts.*?

Generally speaking, there were fewer university foundations in the
latter half of the seventeenth century. To all appearances the standard
type of university was obsolescent. Not only was there already a
feeling that there were too many universities, there was also dissatis-
faction with the quality of the university system. This led to a boom
in extra-university higher education, in the form of foundations of
alternative schools supplementing or competing with universities, and
to the great wave of reform of the entire university system in the
latter half of the eighteenth century. The consequent changes in the
map of universities foreshadowed the reforms made by the revolution-
aries of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries in France,
Spain, the Netherlands and Germany. In all those countries the univer-
sity network was rationalized, taking as models existing universities
of proven quality.

NORTH AND SOUTH: FULL AND EMPTY SPACES ON THE MAP

The above general survey calls for two more comments. The first is that
maps of university foundations give a rather false impression by suggest-
ing that most of these were in the almost wholly Protestant north of
Europe. But throughout the period under review, at least two out of
every three European universities were in Catholic territory, in what
were then the most densely populated countries of Europe. This reservoir
of Catholic universities, many of them dating from the high Middle
Ages, was the institutional hub of the European university system, and
its organization was nearest to that prescribed by the old statutes and
regulations. The pioneer universities of the early modern period — such
as Geneva, Leiden, Halle, Gottingen, Erlangen, Edinburgh, Glasgow and
Konigsberg — appear at first to be mainly the Protestant ones; but per-
haps not after closer scrutiny.

The recent renewal of interest in university history and the different
angle from which it is observed — no longer as a chronicle of learning
and great scholars, but as history more interested in the sum of relations
between the university and society — has led us to pay more attention to
what happened in the southern (Catholic) half of Europe. The obscur-
antist Mediterranean university depicted by northern European or anti-

” R. Turtas, La nascita dell’universita in Sardegna. La politica culturale dei sovrani spag-
noli nella formazione degli Atenei di Sassari e di Cagliari (1543-1632) (Sassari, 1988).

Patterns

clerical historians becomes much less credible.°° There were of course
great scholars in southern Europe too, especially in Italy — to name only
Galileo Galilei (1564-1642), Marcello Malpighi (1628-94), Luigi Gal-
vani (1737-98), Gianbattista Vico (1668-1744), Ludovico Muratori
(1672-1750) and, in Spain, Gregori Mayans (1699-1781) — and there,
too, learning was not confined to the university. However, the point at
issue is not really this, but whether the university as an institution had
not more completely maintained its position, as a universal vector of
culture in the service of society, in the south than in the north. In so far
as the number of students is concerned, it certainly had; throughout
northern Europe the number of students declined from the seventeenth
to the eighteenth century. In the south conditions were different, varying
of course with the country or university, but in general comparing
favourably with the north.*!

Moreover, in the eighteenth century a lively intellectual atmosphere
flourished again in the southern universities, because they devoted them-
selves more completely to the service of the state. Cultural elites were
emancipated (women students were admitted to university for the first
time in eighteenth-century Italy);°* the university distanced itself from
the church; and enlightened despots, either rulers or powerful advisers
of the state such as Pombal in Portugal, Van Swieten in Austria and
the count of Aranda in Spain, intervened energetically to rationalize the
university network and transform the universities by allotting to them
functions more closely concerned with the business of the state. It was
in southern Europe, too, that the Enlightenment most influenced reform
in the universities, perhaps because humanism had not really trans-
formed them as it did in the north, and they were still awaiting, as it
were, a new vocation. This was given to them by the centralizing state.

It is important to appreciate the true character of these reforms in the
university. Admittedly, the university had always been an universitas
semper reformanda (a university to be continually reformed), and there

°° See e.g. M. Peset and J. L. Peset, La universidad espanola (siglos XVIII y XIX). Despo-
tismo ilustrado y revolucion liberal (Madrid, 1974); M. Roggero, ‘Professori e studenti
nelle universita tra crisi e riforme’, Storia d’Italia. Annali, 4 (Turin, 1981), 1037-81;
M. Roggero, II sapere e la virtu. Stato, universita e professioni nel Piemonte tra Sette-
cento ed Ottocento (Turin, 1987). On the difference between Spain and Europe, see
the short but remarkable essay by M. Peset, ‘Universidades espafiolas y universidades
europeas’, Ius Commune, 12 (1984), 71-89.

°1 See for Spain: Kagan, Students and Society; M. Peset and M. F. Mancebo, ‘La poblacion
universitaria de Espafia en el siglo XVIII’, in M. Peset and M. F. Mancebo (eds.), El
cientifico espanol ante su historia. La ciencia en Espafta entre 1750-1850. I Congreso
de la Sociedad Espanola de Historia de las Ciencias (Madrid, 1980), 301-18; repub-
lished in French as ‘La population des universités espagnoles au XVIlIle siécle’, in Popu-
lations étudiantes, vol. 1, 187-204.

‘2 See chapter 7, notes 43-7.

Willem Frijhoff

were in some universities reformatores studii (as in Bologna) and
occasionally official inspectors. These constant or repeated reforms were
necessary because the university had to conform to its pristine and orig-
inal model; reform meant a return to the original. But in the seventeenth
century, and particularly in the eighteenth century, a new spirit was
growing up behind this recopilacidn de leyes (renewal of the statutes), a
spirit less concerned with return to original purity than with preparing
university organization for new duties.

The reforms came in waves, first in the early seventeenth century (for
example, the visitation of Louvain in 1617, of Copenhagen in 1621, and
of Salamanca in 1625);°° then in the early eighteenth century (Catalonia,
1714-17; and Piedmont in 1729); and finally the huge wave of 1760-—
80, which restored order after the abolition of the Society of Jesus (often
merely a convenient excuse). That wave swept over France in 1763, Por-
tugal in 1758 and 1772, Poland in 1773, Spain from 1769 onwards, the
countries of the Habsburg Empire in 1774-7, Naples in 1777, Prussia
in 1779 and Russia in 1782.” These reforms all over Europe (but most
sweeping in the south) were not due to chance, but to two principles.
First, the new awareness that it was the state’s responsibility to educate
its citizens;>’ and secondly, the firm belief that the church, and still more

53 For Louvain, see E. Reusens, ‘Documents relatifs a l’histoire de |’Université de Louvain,
1425-1797, Analectes pour servir a l’histoire ecclésiastique de la Belgique, vol. 1
(Louvain, 1881), 600-84. For Salamanca: L. E. Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares, La Uni-
versidad Salmantina del Barroco, périodo 1598-1625, 3 vols. (Salamanca, 1986); M.
Peset, ‘La monarchie absolue et les universités espagnoles’, CRE-Information, 72
(1985), 75-104.

* R. Chartier and D. Julia, ‘L’école: traditions et modernisation’, in Septiéme Congrés

international des Lumtiéres, Budapest 26 juillet-2 aowt 1987: rapports préliminaires

(Oxford, 1987), 107-17, with a bibliography; M. Kulczykowski (ed.), Les Grandes

Réformes des universités européennes du XVIe au XXe siécles. IIléme Session scienti-

fique internationale, Cracovie, 15-17 mai 1980, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiel-

lonskiego, DCCLXI. Prace Historyczne, Z. 79 (Warsaw/Cracow, 1985); A. Alvarez de

Morales, La Ilustracién y la Reforma de la universidad en la Espana del siglo XVIII

(Madrid, 1971); N. Hammerstein, Aufklarung und katholisches Reich. Untersuchungen

zur Universitatsreform und Politik katholischer Territorien des Heiligen Roémischen

Reichs deutscher Nation im 18. Jahrhundert, Historische Forschungen, 12 (Berlin, 1977);

J. Cobb, ‘The Forgotten Reforms: Non-Prussian Universities 1797-1817’, Ph.D., Wiscon-

sin, 1980; N. Hammerstein, ‘Besonderheiten der Gsterreichischen Universitats- und Wis-

senschaftsreform zur Zeit Maria Theresias und Josephs II’, in R. G. Plaschka and G. Kling-
enstein (eds.), Osterreich im Europa der Aufklarung. Kontinuitat und Zdsur in Europa

zur Zeit Maria Theresias und Josephs II., vol. m1 (Vienna, 1985), 787-812; M. Peset and J.

L. Peset, Gregorio Mayans y la Reforma universitaria (Valencia, 1975).

On the state and the universities, see chapters 3 and 4. On the philosophy of state

intervention in education, see U. Krautkamer, Staat und Erziehung. Begriindung

Offentlicher Erziehung bei Humboldt, Kant, Fichte, Hegel und Schleiermacher (Munich,

1979); L. Ferry, J. P. Pesron and A. Renaut (eds.), Philosophies de l’université. L’idéal-

isme allemand et la question de l’université. Textes de Schelling, Fichte, Schleiermacher,

Humboldt, Hegel (Paris, 1979); H. Chisick, The Limits of Reform in the Enlightenment

(Princeton, N.J., 1981).

Patterns

the state, deserved a highly skilled bureaucracy. In southern Europe
more than in the north the old idea lived on that a university education
was essential for a good official. Reform therefore began in education for
state service, for example in Spain under Charles III in the universidades
imperiales of Salamanca, Valladolid and Alcala, whose colegios mayores
led directly to the cursus honorum of public service.°° These reforms
served, and were justified by, the needs of the state, the source of the
demand for education, rather than of culture, which supplied education.

The second additional comment relates to the empty spaces on the
map. On the map of 1790 some spaces are left blank because they are
filled by mountains (the Massif Central, the Alps and the Carpathians),
or in Lower Germany, Hungary and Transylvania by a network of teach-
ing academies of the second kind referred to above. Other spaces are
empty because the area is underpopulated (as in Scandinavia) or under
Turkish occupation (countries south of the Danube). There are also
spaces deliberately left empty, as in Portugal after Pombal’s sweeping
reforms, or in England and Poland because of university monopolies
jealously defended by the medieval institutions holding them.

One general indication of the density of the university network com-
pared with that of the population may be useful (see table 2.4). On
average, there was in Europe around 1790 one university for a little
more than 1 million inhabitants. The 143 universities in Europe around
1790, before revolutionary abolitions, were clearly very unequally dis-
tributed. France and the Scandinavian countries enjoyed a fair average
number; the countries rich in universities are either those of an ancient
culture (Italy) or those in which the university had done much to pro-
mote scientific development (the United Provinces and Scotland). Eng-
land, the Austrian Netherlands, Portugal and Ireland bring up the rear.
Not only were there few universities in those countries, but they were
very few compared to the number of inhabitants. In other words, access
to the universities and to the cultural universe they represented was par-
ticularly difficult there. In Ireland the position was even worse, because
the university was Anglican whereas the overwhelming majority of the
population was Catholic. Here more than elsewhere, would-be students
(or their parents) had to cope with the difficulties of financing their stud-
ies far from home. Not only the disadvantages of living away from
home, but also cost-benefit analysis, rudimentary though it must have
been, must have prevented many young men from going to university

°° Cf. Kagan, Students and Society, 109-58; D. De Lario, ‘Mecenazgo de los colegios
mayores en la formaci6on de la burocracia espafiola (siglos XIV—XVIII)’, in Peset (ed.),
Universidades espanolas (note 23), 277-309. Cf. P. Zabala y Lera, Las universidades y
los colegios mayores en tiempos de Carlos III (Madrid, 1906).

Willem Frijhoff

Table 2.4 Density of the university network in 1790

Number of

Number of universities

universities Population for every
Country stricto sensu in millions’ million
Scotland 5 1.50 33
Ireland I 5-25 0.2
England and Wales Zz 9.25 oz
United Provinces 5 2:10 24
Austrian Netherlands I 3.25 0.3
Scandinavian countries 4 5-25 0.8
Russia in Europe 2 36.00 O.I
German Empire 34 24.00 1.4
Switzerland 2 1.75 I.I
Austria-Hungary 12 20.75 0.6
The Italian countries 26 19.00 1.4
France 25 29.00 0.9
Spain 23 II.50 2.0
Portugal I 2.75 0.4

Total 143 T7135 0.8

Figures for 1800.
Source: C. McEvedy and R. Jones, Atlas of World Population History (Harmondsworth,
1978).

and so from acquiring specialized knowledge and embracing the career
of their choice.

The last empty spaces on the map show up less, but are just as
important. They indicate large towns without a university.°’ Even in
the Middle Ages, some cities steadfastly refused to become university
towns. They were afraid of the difficulties of policing a host of unruly
students enjoying social and legal privileges, just as in the eighteenth
century they were afraid of political subversion among the students.
The connections between trade, education and science were not then
properly understood, except perhaps in countries, especially the United
Provinces, where universities were founded by municipalities: at the
Opening ceremony of the illustrious school of Amsterdam in 1632,
Caspar Barlaeus (1584-1648) read his famous lecture entitled Mer-
cator sapiens (“The Learned Merchant’). Some towns of recent growth
did not have a university because there was already one —- one of a
network of ancient foundations — in a nearby town. This lack of a
university raises a problem, for if we agree that in the early modern

°? W. Brulez, Cultuur en getal. Aspecten van de relatie economie-maatschappij-cultuur in
Europa tussen 1400 en 1800 (Amsterdam, 1986), 22-3, discusses this problem in the
broader context of the functional network of European cities. See also E. Maschke
and J. Sydow (eds.), Stadt und Universitat im Mittelalter und in der friiheren Neuzeit
(Sigmaringen, 1977).

Patterns

period urbanization was one of the most important factors of mod-
ernization we have to ask what the relations were between the univer-
sity and urban dynamics.

It is striking that most of the large and expanding cities of the early
modern period — London, Amsterdam, Brussels, Hamburg, Berlin,
Dresden, Munich, Marseille, Lyons, Madrid, Lisbon and Warsaw
among others — had no university in the strict sense of the word, and
remained without one, at least until the end of the period. We should
examine how these towns channelled their cultural vitality into alterna-
tive institutions such as schools of practitioners (the Inns of Court in
London), semi-university colleges (as in Milan), illustrious schools with
professorial chairs (as in Amsterdam), and occupational schools (such
as the school of the Barcelona Chamber of Commerce), or research aca-
demies and learned societies. Presumably these institutions, being less
hampered by university traditions and restrictions, were able to act more
effectively and in a more critical and innovatory spirit — above all, one
more open to the new disciplines and the new learning. Is it surprising
that the institution for higher education in Peter the Great’s new capital
St Petersburg was given the structure of an academy of sciences, not of
a traditional university?

The map of the universities existing in 1790 shows principally the
heritage of the past, which testifies more to the inertia of the system than
to its vigour. Closer examination will show that the vigour of higher
education found an outlet in the variety of its institutions. It would be
unreasonable to expect too much of the universities; what matters is not
whether they were always the pioneers, but whether they absorbed and
handed on to their students such innovations generated in society as a
whole as were normally within their competence. The universities of the
early modern period were remarkably flexible in this respect, considering
how rigidly they were organized, many of them on long-outdated models
centuries old.

The development of the university network in the early modern period
may be summed up in three keywords taken from the model drawn up
by Jarausch for the nineteenth century: expansion, differentiation and
professionalization.’® Expansion related to the increase in the number of
universities so that they covered the whole of Christian Europe up to
saturation point. In the eighteenth century, secularization of the univer-
sities in some countries, the growth of public opinion in cultural matters,
and intervention by the state to ensure that the university met its con-
siderable demands all cleared the ground for rationalization of the

°8K. H. Jarausch (ed.), The Transformation of Higher Learning, 1860-1930: Expansion,

Diversification, Social Opening, and Professionalization in England, Germany, Russia
and the United States (Chicago, Ill., 1983).

Willem Frijhoff

network of universities, and internal reform, to make them better able
to serve the state. Differentiation is shown by the foundation of a net-
work of institutions of further education of many different kinds, of
which universities form only a part. In the course of time, secondary
education, pure and applied technology, and a great deal of scientific
research ceased to be concerns of the university, often with its tacit
acquiescence. It is questionable whether this made the university any
more coherent. Certainly the early modern period laid the foundations
of professionalization, although it did not become apparent until the
nineteenth century. The gap narrowed between the universities and the
professions, and encouraged by the state they began to observe the
market. This metamorphosis of universities, from institutions producing
more or less what they pleased into institutions whose production was
guided by market needs and demands, is perhaps the most striking
characteristic of the period. It is certainly the one that has most strongly
affected the development of universities until the present day.

LIST OF EUROPEAN UNIVERSITIES IN THE EARLY MODERN PERIOD

The following list shows in chronological order of their foundation all
universities in existence (even for a very short time) between 1500 and
1800. Universities are regarded as comprising all institutions of higher
education founded or recognized as universities or academies of equival-
ent level by the public authorities of their territory, and which at any
time in the period 1500 and 1800 conferred degrees recognized by the
ecclesiastical authorities and/or the sovereign civil authorities, or by their
legitimate delegates. Projected or attempted foundations not followed by
an official founding charter (such as Angouléme 1516, La Fléche 1603
and Chambéry 1679) have not been included; neither have universities
founded but failing to obtain the right to confer degrees (Durham 1657).
Also omitted are a number of institutions of higher education that
appear to have conferred degrees on their own authority, without such
degrees being recognized by any legitimate authority.
The information given is as follows:

— name of the town (its present name, if different), and in some
instances the name of the institution;

— those studia whose status as universities is open to dispute have been
placed in brackets;

— the date of foundation; for universities founded in or after 1500 all
the successive stages of their institutional classification are shown,
such as the foundation of an illustrious school, gymnasium
(academicum), academy, etc.;

Patterns

— the religious order administering them, if any;

— the date of their abolition in the period 1500-1800, or when the
institution fell a victim to the wave of university reorganizations that
took place in the later eighteenth century and until about 1820; some
universities were reopened after that date;

— their religious obedience(s), and dominant religious order, if any, in
the faculties of arts and theology;

— a final * shows the universities that have never had a complete uni-
versity structure (the four main faculties of arts, medicine, jurispru-
dence and theology) or an array of university chairs covering the
whole of these disciplines.

For the sources of this list the reader is referred to the bibliography at
the end of this chapter.

Bologna (end of the twelfth century). Catholic.

Paris (beginning of the thirteenth century). Suppressed in 1793. Cath-
olic. Autonomous colleges of surgery (1698) and pharmacy (1777).
Collége royal de France (not empowered to award degrees) founded
in 1529/30, attached to the university in 1733, autonomous 1793
(Collége de France). Created by the Revolution: National Natural
History Museum (Muséum national d’histoire naturelle) 1793, ex
Jardin du Roy (1626/36); Ecole de santé, 1794, became Medical
School (Ecole de médecine), 1795; Ecole normale, 1794 (an III);
Central School of Public Works (Ecole centrale des travaux publics),
1793/4, became Ecole polytechnique 1795; School of Modern
Oriental Languages (Ecole des langues orientales vivantes), 1795;
School of Civil Engineering (Ecole des ponts et chaussées) (1775)
and School of Mining (Ecole des mines) (1783-90) reorganized in
1794/5.

Oxford (beginning of the thirteenth century). Catholic, then Anglican
(Articles of Faith, 1553).

Montpellier (beginning of the thirteenth century). Loose university
structure (autonomous universities of law and medicine, faculties
of arts and theology) unified into a single institution in 1723; sup-
pressed in 1793. Catholic (arts, Jesuit 1596, theology, Jesuit 1681).
Separate Calvinist academy of theology 1598-1617. Ecole de santé
1795.

Cambridge (1209-25). Catholic, then Anglican (Articles of Faith
1553).

Salamanca (before 1218-19). College of Three Languages incorpor-
ated in 1555. Catholic.

Padua (1222). Catholic.

Willem Frijboff

Naples (1224). Suppressed in 1458; shortly re-established in 1465;
fully re-established in 1507. Catholic.

Toulouse (1229). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Salerno (1231) University of medicine and arts. First statutes 1231.
Suppressed 1811. Catholic.*

Orléans (around 1235). University of law; officially recognized 1306;
suppressed in 1793. Catholic. Autonomous college of medicine
(1484), faculty since 1533, recovered its autonomy in seventeenth
century(?). Autonomous faculty of theology 1561; suppressed in
1568. Calvinist. *

Siena (1246). Catholic.

Angers (around 1250). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Valladolid (end of thirteenth century). Catholic.

Lisbon (1290). Transferred to Coimbra in 1537. Catholic.

Lérida (Lleida) (1300). Transferred to Cervera in 1717. Catholic.

Avignon (1303). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Rome (1303). Studium Urbis (also called Sapienza). Catholic.

Coimbra (1308, see Lisbon 1290). Transferred from Lisbon in 1308-
38 and 1354-77, definitively in 1537. Catholic.

Perugia (1308). Catholic.

Cahors (1332). Suppressed and merged with Toulouse 1751. Catholic.

Grenoble (1339). Reorganized 1542; transferred to Valence in 1565/
7. Catholic.

Pisa (1343). Catholic.

Prague (1347). The Utraquist university (Carolinum) became a Jesuit
university in 1622 but was reorganized without Jesuit participation
in 1638; merged with the Jesuit Collegium Clementinum 1654.
Hussite, Catholic from 1622.

Perpignan (1350). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Huesca (1354). Catholic.

Pavia (1361). Reorganized 1541. Catholic.

Cracow (1364). Catholic. University colonies in Kulm (Chetmno),
Poznan, etc.

Orange (1365). Suppressed in 1562. Catholic. Re-established in 1583;
suppressed in 1793. Catholic (coupled with a Calvinist academy
1583-1703*).

Vienna [Austria] (1365). Catholic. Jesuit university college* 1551,
incorporated 1623.

Lucca (1369). Ceased to exist around 1552. Catholic.

Erfurt (1379). Suppressed in 1804 (1816). Catholic, then Lutheran
(1631, some chairs created in 1566), again Catholic 1648 (chairs
of Lutheran theology outside the university).

Patterns

Heidelberg (1385). Many transfers (e.g. to Neustadt an der Haardt
1576-83, Frankfurt-on-Main and Weinheim 1689-1700); closed
1626-9 and 1632-52. Catholic; 1558 Lutheran, 1559 Calvinist,
1629 again Catholic (Jesuit), Lutheran (1631), Calvinist (1652),
Catholic (Jesuit) since 1700 (Calvinist chairs maintained).

Cologne (1388). Suppressed in 1798 (became a Central School). Cath-
olic (under Jesuit influence through the Gymnasium Tricoronatum,
incorporated 1556).

Ferrara (1391). Reorganized 1559. Catholic.

Budapest (1395). Suppressed in 1400; re-established 1410-c.1460.
Transfer of the University of Nagyszombat (Trnava, Tyrnae) to
Buda 1777, then to Pest 1784. Catholic.

Wiirzburg (1402). Disappeared after 1413. Gymnasium illustre 1561;
university 1575. Catholic (Jesuit).

Turin (1404). Suppressed in 1558. Re-established in 1566. Catholic.

Leipzig (1409). Catholic, Lutheran since 1539.

Aix-en-Provence (1409). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

St Andrews (1411). Catholic, then Presbyterian.

Parma (1412). Studium re-established in 1512. Catholic.

Rostock (1419). Secession of part of the university to Biitzow 1760-
89. Catholic, then Lutheran (1531).

Dole (1422). Transferred to Besancon in 1691. Catholic.

Louvain (1425). Transfer of all the faculties (except the faculty of
theology) to Brussels 1788-90. Suppressed in 1797. Catholic.

Poitiers (1431). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Caen (1432). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Bordeaux (1441). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Catania (1444). Catholic.

Barcelona (1450). Transferred to Cervera in 1714-17. Catholic.

Glasgow (1451). Restored (nova erectio) 1577. Catholic, then
Presbyterian.

Valence [France] (1452). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic. University of
Grenoble incorporated from 1565/7.

Trier (1454). Suppressed in 1798. Catholic (under Jesuit influence).

Greifswald (1456). Closed down in 1527-39. Catholic. Lutheran after
the restoration of 1539.

Freiburg im Breisgau (1457). Temporarily transferred to Constance in
1686-98 and in 1713-15. Catholic (since 1620 under Jesuit
influence).

Basle (1459). Catholic, since 1532 Protestant, later Calvinist.

Ingolstadt (1459). University transferred to Landshut in 1800, then
to Munich 1826. Catholic (Jesuit since 1556).

Willem Frijhoff

Nantes (1460). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Bourges (1464). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Bratislava (Pozsony, Pressburg) (1465). Lectures had probably ceased
after 1492; transfer of the faculties of philosophy and law from
Trnava 1784. Catholic.*

[Venice (1470). Faculty of medicine with university status. Catholic.*]

Genoa (1471). Only opened as a studium in 1513; public university
in 1773. Catholic.

Zaragoza (1474). University re-established in 1542, inaugurated
1583. Catholic (under Jesuit influence).

Copenhagen (1475). Reorganized 1537. Catholic; Lutheran from
1537.

Mainz (1476). Transferred to Aschaffenburg in 1792, suppressed in
1798 (became a Central School). Catholic (under Jesuit influence
since 1563).

Tiibingen (1476). Catholic; Lutheran ffom 1534.

Uppsala (1477). Suppressed in 1515. Catholic. Re-established in
1595; Lutheran.

Palma, Majorca (1483). Suppressed (lost the right to confer degrees)
1718. Catholic.

Sigiienza (1489). Suppressed in 1807. Catholic.

Aberdeen (Old-) (1495). King’s College founded in the university
1505. Catholic, later Presbyterian. Temporary union with the rival
university (Aberdeen, New-), 1641.

Frankfurt-on-Oder (1498). Only opened in 1506; suppressed and
merged with Breslau 1811. Catholic; Lutheran 1539; Calvinist 1613
(Lutheran chairs maintained).

Alcala (1499). College-university, inaugurated 1508. Catholic.

Valencia [Spain] (1500). Catholic.

Wittenberg (1502). Merged with Halle, 1817. Catholic (Augustinian);
Lutheran from 1517.

Seville, Santa Maria de Jesis (1505). College-university; colegio mayor
1623. Catholic.

Seville, Santo Tomas (1516). College-university (Dominican), a
closed college of the Order; public 1539; lost the right to confer
degrees outside the Order 1662; continued as academia cesarea.
Catholic.*

Toledo (1521). College-university; suppressed in 1807. Catholic.

Santiago de Compostela (1526). Studium 1504. Catholic.

Marburg (1527). Imperial privilege granted 1541. Lutheran, Calvinist
1605; Lutheran 1625 (merged with Giessen); again Calvinist,
1653.

Granada (1531). College 1526. Catholic.*

Patterns

Sahagan (1534). Convent-university (Benedictine); transferred to
Irache c. 1550. Catholic.*
tmes (1539). Municipal school 1530; university college of arts 1539;
suppressed in 1795, revived as a Central School 1798. Catholic;
since 1561 predominantly Calvinist; Jesuits introduced 1634; Jesuits
only 1666, Doctrinaires 1765.”

Macerata (1540). Catholic.

Ofiate (1540). College-university; suppressed in 1807. Catholic.*

Baeza (1542). College 1538, suppressed in 1807. Catholic.*

Konigsberg (Kaliningrad) (1544). Royal Polish privilege 1561.
Lutheran.

Gandia (1547). College for new converts 1544, university (Jesuit)
1547; suppressed in 1807. Catholic.*

Reims (1548). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic (Jesuit college incorpor-
ated 1609).

Messina (1548). Studium generale (Jesuit) 1548; reorganized in 1591;
suppressed in 1678. Academy of university status (lower grades in
philosophy and theology only) 1778. Catholic.

Tournon (1548). College 1538, university status 1542; papal and
royal privileges 1622, revoked 1626. Catholic (Jesuit since 1561).

Osuna (1548/9). College-university; suppressed in 1807. Catholic.

Irache (c. 1550). Benedictine convent-university of Sahagdn trans-
ferred to Irache; suppressed in 1807. Catholic.

Almagro (1550). Convent-university (Dominican), suppressed in
1807. Catholic. *

Tortosa (1551). Convent-university (Dominican), transferred to Cer-
vera in 1717. Catholic.*

Orihuela (1552). Convent-university (Dominican), a closed university
of the Order; public 1569; suppressed in 1807. Catholic.

Dillingen (1553). Gymnasium 1549 (Jesuit since 1563/4). Catholic.

Burgo de Osma (1555). College-university; suppressed in 1770. Re-
established in 1778, again suppressed in 1807. Catholic.

Milan (1556). College of university status (Jesuit). Catholic.*

Prague (1556). Collegium Clementinum. Academy (Jesuit) 1556,
merged with the university 1654. Catholic.*

Rome (1556). Gregoriana. College (Jesuit) 1553, university (Jesuit)
1556. Catholic (since 1773 run by secular clergy as Pontificia Univ-
ersitas Lateranense).*

Jena (1557/8). Gymnasium academicum 1548. Lutheran.

Evora (1558/9). (Jesuit). Suppressed in 1759. Catholic.

[Geneva (1559). Academy of university status. Calvinist. ]

Nice (1559). School of law 1559 (confirmed 1640); right to confer
degrees lost 1720; school suppressed in 1793. Catholic.*

Willem Frijhoff

Douai (1559/60). Suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Mondovi (1560). Suppressed in 1719. Catholic.

Ancona (1562). Suppressed in 1739. Catholic.

[Estella, Navarre (1565). Never functioned. Catholic.]

[Braunsberg (Braniewo) (1568). Seminary 1564, college (Jesuit) of
university level 1568; unsuccessful attempts to found a university,
but the right to grant degrees attested in 1642; gymnasium 1781.
Catholic. ]

Olomouc (1570). College (Jesuit) 1566, university (Jesuit) 1570,
transferred to Briinn (now Brno) in 1778. Re-established as lyceum
in 1782. Catholic.

Pont-a-Mousson (1572). University (Jesuit); transferred to Nancy in
1768. Catholic.

Oviedo (1574). College 1534, university 1574 (confirmed 1604).
Catholic.

Tarragona (1574). Seminary-university; transferred to Cervera in
1717, Catholic*

Leiden (1575). University. Calvinist.

Helmstedt (1575/6). Illustrious school founded 1570 at Gandersheim,
transferred to Helmstedt in 1574; merged with Gottingen 1809,
suppressed in 1810. Lutheran.

Avila (1576). Studium (Dominican) 1504, convent-university 1576;
right to confer degrees lost 1787; university suppressed in 1807.
Catholic. *

Palermo (1578). Studium (Jesuit) 1560, university (Jesuit) 1578; sup-
pressed in 1767. Re-established in 1779. Catholic.

Vilnius (1578; confirmed by papal bull 1579). University (Jesuit).
Catholic.

Edinburgh (1582/3). Royal university charter confirmed 1621.
Presbyterian.

Orthez (1583). Academy 1566, university 1583 (transferred to Lescar
in 1591-1609); suppressed in 1620. Calvinist.

Fermo (1585). Catholic.

Franeker (1585). Suppressed in 1811. Calvinist.

Graz (1585/6). Gymnasium 1573, university 1585/6 (Jesuit). Catholic. *

Escorial (El) (1587). Minor seminary; became a college-university
(Monks of Saint Jeremy) 1587. Catholic.*

Gerona (1587). University, royal charter 1446, confirmed 1587, trans-
ferred to Cervera in 1717. Catholic.

Dublin (1592). University (Trinity College). Anglican.

Aberdeen (New-) (1593). Marischal College; temporarily united with
the Old-University 1641. Presbyterian.

Zamosé (1594). Suppressed in 1784. Catholic.

Patterns

Saumur (1596/1604). Academy (degrees in arts and theology); sup-
pressed in 1685. Calvinist. *

Montauban (1598). Academy (degrees in arts only); transferred to
Puylaurens in 1659; suppressed in 1685. Calvinist.

Vich (1599). Transferred to Cervera in 1717. Catholic.”

Sedan (1599/1602). College 1576, academy 1599/1602; suppressed in
1681. Calvinist.

Die (1601/4). Academy (degrees in arts and theology); suppressed in
1684. Calvinist. *

Aix-en-Provence (1603). Collége royal Bourbon (Jesuit from 1621);
merged with the university of Aix, 1763. Catholic.*

Cagliari (1606). Opened 1626; closed c. 1679. Reorganized 1755.
Catholic.

Giessen (1607). Gymnasium 1605; university 1607 (merged with Mar-
burg 1624-8), re-established in 1650. Lutheran.

Groningen (1612/14). Calvinist.

Solsona (1614). Convent-university (Dominican), transferred to Cer-
vera in 1717. Catholic.*

Paderborn (1614/16). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1585; university (Jesuit)

' 1614/16. Suppressed in 1818. Catholic.*

Sassari (1617). College (Jesuit) 1562. Catholic.

Molsheim (1617/18). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1580, university (Jesuit)
1617/18; transferred to Strasburg in 1701. Catholic.*

Pamplona (1619). Convent-university (Dominican) 1619; suppressed
in 1771 (lost the right to confer degrees). Catholic.*

Rinteln (1620). Gymnasium (at Stadthagen) 1610, university (at
Rinteln) 1620; suppressed in 1809. Lutheran (1631-3 Lutheran and
Catholic (Benedictine); partly Calvinist since 1647).

Salzburg (1620/5). Gymnasium (Benedictine) 1617, academy of uni-
versity status 1619, university (Benedictine) 1620/5. Catholic.

Strasburg (1621). Gymnasium 1538, academy 1566/7 (degrees in arts
and theology), full university 1621. Suppressed in 1793. Lutheran.
Ecole de santé 1795.

Altdorf (1622/3). Gymnasium philosophicum (academy) 1577/8; sup-
pressed in 1809. Lutheran.

Miinster-Westfalen (1622/9). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1588, university
(Jesuit) founded 1622/9 (privilege granted 1631) but did not mater-
ialize. University 1771 (opened in 1780). Catholic.

Mantua (1625). Jesuit; suppressed in 1771/3. Catholic.

Osnabriick (1629/32). Gymnasium 1625, university (Jesuit) 1629/32;
suppressed in 1633. Catholic.

Dorpat (Tartu) (1632). Gymnasium 1630, university 1632, suppressed
in 1656 (courses continued at Reval 1657-65, thereafter at Pernau).

Willem Frijhoff

Re-established in 1690, transferred to Pernau in 1699; closed 1710.
Lutheran.

Kassel (1633). Academy of Nobles 1599, illustrious school 1627, uni-
versity college 1633. Suppressed and merged with Marburg 1653.
Calvinist.

Trnava (Nagyszombat, Tyrnae) (1635). University (Jesuit), transferred
to Budapest in 1777/84 and to Pozsony in 1784. Catholic.

Utrecht (1636). Illustrious School 1632. Calvinist.

Abo (Turku) (1640). Gymnasium 1630. Lutheran.

Harderwijk (1647/8). Illustrious school 1599/1600-1600; suppressed
in 1811. Calvinist.

Bamberg (1648). Seminary and gymnasium (Jesuit) 1586; university
status 1648, complete university 1773; transferred to Wiirzburg in
1803. Catholic.

Kiel (1652). Opened 1665. Lutheran.

Duisburg (1654). A Catholic foundation of 1561/6 did not mater-
ialize. Gymnasium 1636, university 1654, suppressed in 1804.
Calvinist.

Nijmegen (1655). Illustrious school 1653; suppressed in 1679.
Calvinist.

Kassa (KoSice) (1657). Jesuit. Catholic.*

Lwow (Lemberg) (1661). University (Jesuit), suppressed in 1773; state
university 1784, suppressed 1803. Catholic.

Eperjes (PreSov) (1665). Lectures often suspended. Lutheran.*

Lund (1666/8). Lutheran.

Innsbruck (1668). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1562; university (Jesuit) 1668;
right to confer degrees 1673/7. Catholic.

Urbino (1671). Law college 1506; right to confer degrees 1564; uni-
versity 1671. Catholic.

Montbéliard (1671). Academy 1598, closed 1677. Lutheran.

Linz (1674). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1629, university status (lower
degrees only) 1674. Catholic.*

Strasburg (1685). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1685. Transfer of Molsheim
University (Jesuit) to Strasburg, 1701; merger of the two universities
1765. Catholic.”

Besancon (1691). Foundation of 1564 revoked 1567. University of
Dole transferred to Besancon in 1691; suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Halle (1693/4). Foundation of a Catholic university authorized but
not pursued, 1531. Academy of Nobles 1685/8, university 1693/4.
Lutheran.

Laguna (La) (1701). Convent-university (Augustinian) inaugurated
1744; suppressed in 1747 and replaced by a major seminary. New
foundation authorized 1792/3 but did not materialize. Catholic. *

Patterns

Breslau (Wroclaw) (1702). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1659; university
(Jesuit) 1702. Catholic.

Cervera (1714/17). Formed by the merger of all Catalan universities
(Barcelona, Gerona, Lleida, Solsona, Tarragona, Tortosa, Vich);
return to Barcelona 1821. Catholic (under Jesuit influence).

Dijon (1722). A foundation of 1516 did not materialize. University
(faculty of law only) 1722; suppressed in 1792. Catholic.*

Pau (1722). A Jesuit foundation of 1629 did not materialize. Univer-
sity 1722 (Jesuit); suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

St Petersburg (1724). Founded as a lyceum within the Academy of
Sciences; autonomous in 1747. Orthodox (no theology).*

Camerino (1727). Suppressed in 1808. Catholic.

Rome (1727). San Tommaso (Angelicum). Faculty of theology
(Dominican) 1580; university status 1727. Catholic.*

Fulda (1732/4). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1572, associated with the papal
seminary 1584; suppressed in 1803. Catholic (Jesuit and Benedic-
tine; solely Benedictine since 1773).

Gottingen (1733/7). Gymnasium 1586. Lutheran.

Rennes (1735). Faculty of law transferred from Nantes; suppressed in
1793. Catholic.*

Erlangen (1742/3). Academy of Nobles 1701, gymnasium 1741
(merged with the gymnasium of Bayreuth), university 1742; trans-
ferred in 1743 from Bayreuth to Erlangen. Lutheran.

Altamura (1748). Suppressed in 1799. Catholic.

Moscow (1755). (The teaching of theology remained under the auth-
ority of the Orthodox Church.)*

Biitzow (1760). University founded as a secession from Rostock;
reunited with Rostock 1789. Lutheran.

Corte (1765). Suppressed in 1768. Catholic.

Nancy (1768). University transferred from Pont-d-Mousson to Nancy,
suppressed in 1793. Catholic.

Modena (1772/3). Studium 1682 (congregation of San Carlo).
Catholic.

Bonn (1777). Gymnasium (Jesuit) 1730; university 1777, privilege
1784; closed in 1798 (became a Central School). Catholic.

Stuttgart (1781). Military academy 1773; university college 1775; uni-
versity 1781; suppressed in 1794. Lutheran.*

Murcia (1783). Seminary 1777; university status (with the right to
confer the degree of bachelor) 1783. Ceased to exist c. 1804.
Catholic. *

Willem Frijhoff

MAPS

Maps 2-7: Foundations 1501-1800

Each stage in the existence of these institutions (new foundations, erec-
tion as a university stricto sensu, etc.) is shown separately from one map
to another. Where the status of the institution changes in the period of
its foundation, the higher status is shown.

Maps 8-11: Catholic and Protestant universities

The boundaries of the Turkish Empire are those of its greatest extent
(before 1683).

On map 9, receiving universities are those with which a merger was
accomplished or to which a former university was transferred.

Alphabetical list of university towns

The numbers on the maps refer to the numbers of this alphabetical list
of university towns. If a university town hosted more than one univer-
sity, the different years of foundation are mentioned.

1 Aberdeen (Old-) (1495); Aberdeen (New-) (1593)
2 Abo (Turku) (1640)
3 Aix-en-Provence (1409)
4 Alcala (1499)
5 Almagro (1550)
6 Altamura (1748)
7 Altdorf (1622/3)
8 Ancona (1562)
9 Angers (around 1250)
10. 6©Avignon (1303)
11 Avila (1576)
12 Baeza (1542)
13 Bamberg (1648)
14 Barcelona (1450)
15 Basle (1459)
16 Besancon (1691)
17. Bologna (end of the twelfth century)
18 Bonn (1777)
19 Bordeaux (1441)
20 Bourges (1464)

Patterns

Braunsberg (Braniewo) (1568)
Breslau (Wroctaw) (1702)
Budapest (1389)

Burgo de Osma (1555)
Biitzow (1760)

Caen (1432)

Cagliari (1606)

Cahors (1332)
Cambridge (1209-25)
Camerino (1727)
Catania (1444)
Cervera (1714/17)
Coimbra (1308)
Cologne (1388)
Copenhagen (1475)
Corte (1765)

Cracow (1364)

Die (1601/4)

Dijon (1722)

Dillingen (1553)

Dole (1422)

Dorpat (Tartu) (1632)
Douai (1559/60)
Dublin (1592)
Duisburg (1654)
Edinburgh (1582/3)
Eperjes (PreSov) (1665)
Erfurt (1379)

Erlangen (1742/3)
Escorial (El) (1587)
Estella, Navarre (1565)
Evora (1558/9)

Fermo (1585)

Ferrara (1391)
Franeker (1585)
Frankfurt-on-Oder (1498)
Freiburg im Breisgau (1457)
Fulda (1732/4)

Gandia (1547)

Geneva (1559)

Genoa (1471)

Gerona (1587)

Giessen (1607)

Willem Frijhoff

Glasgow (1451)
Gottingen (1733/7)
Granada (1531)
Graz (1585/6)
Greifswald (1456)
Grenoble (1339)
Groningen (1612/14)
Halle (1693/4)
Harderwijk (1647/8)
Heidelberg (1385)
Helmstedt (1575/6)
Huesca (1354)
Ingolstadt (1459) .
Innsbruck (1668) ©
Irache (c. 1550)
Jena (1557/8)

Kassa (KoSice) (1657)
Kassel (1633)

Kiel (1652)

Konigsberg (Kaliningrad) (1544)

Laguna (La) (1701)
Leiden (1575)
Leipzig (1409)
Lérida (Lleida) (1300)
Linz (1674)

Lisbon (1290)
Louvain (1425)
Lucca (1369)

Lund (1666/8)
Lwow (Lemberg) (1661)
Macerata (1540)
Mainz (1476)
Mantua (1625)
Marburg (1527)
Messina (1548)
Milan (1556)
Modena (1772/3)
Molsheim (1617/18)
Mondovi (1560)
Montauban (1598)
Montbéliard (1671)

Montpellier (beginning of the thirteenth century)

Moscow (1755)

Patterns

107. Miinster-Westfalen (1622/9)

108 Murcia (1783)

109 Nancy (1768)

110 ©6Nantes (1460)

111 Naples (1224)

112 Nice (1559)

113 Nijmegen (1655)

114 Nimes (1539)

115 Olomouc (1570)

116 Offate (1540)

117 Orange (1365)

118 Orihuela (1552)

119 Orléans (around 1235)

120 6Orthez (1583)

121 Osnabriick (1629/32)

122 Osuna (1548/9)

123 Oviedo (1574)

124 Oxford (beginning of the thirteenth century)

125 Paderborn (1614/16)

126 Padua (1222)

127 Palermo (1578)

128 Palma, Majorca (1483)

129 Pamplona (1619)

130 Paris (beginning of the thirteenth century)

131 Parma (1412)

E32 Pai (1722)

133 Pavia (1361)

134 Perpignan (1350)

135 Perugia (1308)

136 Pisa (1343)

137 Poitiers (1431)

138 Pont-a-Mousson (1572)

139 Pozsony (Bratislava, Pressburg) (1465)

140 Prague (1347); Clementinum (1556)

141 Reims (1548)

142 Rennes (1735)

143 Rinteln (1620)

144 Rome, Sapienza (1303); Gregoriana (1556);
Angelicum (1727)

145 Rostock (1419)

146 Sahagtin (1534)

147 Salamanca (before 1218/19)

148 Salerno (1231)

149
150
I51
152
T§3
154
T$5

156
T§7
158
T$9
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
I7I
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184

Willem Friyhoff

Salzburg (1620/5)

Santiago de Compostela (1526)

Zaragoza, Saragossa (1474)

Sassari (1617)

Saumur (1596/1604)

Sedan (1599/1602)

Seville, Santa Maria de Jesas (1505);
Santo Tomas (1516)

Siena (1246)

Sigtienza (1489)

Solsona (1614)

St Andrews (1411)

St Petersburg (1724)

Strasburg (1621); Gymnasium SJ (1685)

Stuttgart (1781)

Tarragona (1574)

Toledo (1521)

Tortosa (1551)

Toulouse (1229)

Tournon (1548)

Trier (1454)

Trnava (Nagyszombat, Tyrnae) (1635)

Tiibingen (1476)

Turin (1404)

Uppsala (1477)

Urbino (1671)

Utrecht (1636)

Valence (1452)

Valencia (1500)

Valladolid (end of thirteenth century)

Venice (1470)

Vich (1599)

Vienna (1365)

Vilnius (1578/9)

Wittenberg (1502)

Wirzburg (1402)

Zamosc (1594)

——— ——S——

100 200 300 400 500 miles
200 400 600 800km

founded before 1450

founded since 1450

177

176 1284 4
oe

PR ee SS

1 Universities active in 1500

89 148

SUsIUIOT

0 100 200 300 400 500 miles
a |
0 200 400 600 800km

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education

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3 Foundations 1551-1600

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4 Foundations 1601-1650

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0 200 400 600 800km

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5 Foundations 1651-1700

SHAFTID I

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0 100 200 300 400 500 miles

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7 Foundations 1751-1800

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0
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100 200 300 400 500 miles
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200 400 600 800km

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permanently abolished
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8 Universities stricto sensu active in 1790

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9 Universities stricto sensu abolished, transferred or permanently merged with other universities 1500-1790

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SULIIIDY

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0
0

100 200 300 400 500 miles
200 400 600 800km

Universities founded or
run by the Jesuits

Jesuit faculties

Academies or colleges
with university status

Gymnasia academica

1585 %

10 The Jesuits’ university offensive

1958-7623"
/

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11 The non-Catholic universities in the eighteenth century

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Willem Frijhoff

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106

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enumeratio brevis, London, 1590.

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Christiani, Magdeburg, 1615.

Voetius, G. Sermoen van de Nutticheydt der Academien ende Scholen, Utrecht,
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academiis et studiosis, Jena, 1672.

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O’Day, R. Education and Society 1500-1800. The Social Foundations of Edu-
cation in Early Modern Britain, London/New York, 1982.

Paulsen, F. Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und
Universitaten: vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart mit beson-
derer Riicksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, vol. 1, Leipzig, 1885; 3rd edn,
Leipzig/Berlin, 1919.

Peset, M. (ed.) Universidades espaftolas y americanas. Epoca colonial, Valencia,
1987.

Peset, M. and Peset, J. L. La universidad espanola (siglos XVIII y XIX). Despo-
tismo ilustrado y revolucién liberal, Madrid, 1974.

Verger, J. (ed.) Histoire des universités en France, Toulouse, 1986.

Learned academies

Boehm, L. and Raimondi, E. (eds.) Universita, accademie e societa scientifiche
in Italia e in Germania dal Cinquecento al Settecento, Bologna, 1981.

Faij, B. ‘Learned Societies in Europe and America in the Eighteenth Century’,
American Historical Review, 37 (1931-2), 255-66.

Hammermayer, L. ‘Akademiebewegung und Wissenschaftsorganisation.
Formen, Tendenzen und Wandel in Europa wahrend der zweiten Halfte des
18. Jahrhunderts’, in E. Amburger, M. Ciésla, L. Sziklay (eds.), Wissenschafts-
politik in Mittel- und Osteuropa. Wissenschaftliche Gesellschaften, Akade-
mien und Hochschulen im 18. und beginnenden 19. Jahrhundert, Berlin,
1976, I-84.

Hammermayer, L. Die Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2 vols.,
Munich, 1983.

Hartmann, F. and Vierhaus, R. (eds.) Der Akademiegedanke im 17. und 18.
Jahrhundert, Bremen/Wolfenbiittel, 1977.

McClellan III, J. E. Science Reorganized: Scientific Societies in the Eighteenth
Century, New York, 1985.

Mijnhardt, W. W. Tot Heil van ‘t Menschdom. Culturele Genootschappen in
Nederland 1750-1815, Amsterdam, 1987.

Miiller, K. ‘Zur Entstehung und Wirkung der wissenschaftlichen Akademien und
Gelehrtengesellschaften des 17. Jahrhunderts’, in H. Roéssler and G. Franz
(eds.), Universitat und Gelehrtenstand 1400-1800, Limburg an der Lahn,

1970, 127-44.

109

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Ornstein, M. The Réle of Scientific Societies in the Seventeenth Century,
Chicago, Ill., 1928.

Roche, D. Le Siécle des Lumiéres en province. Académies et académiciens pro-
vinciaux 1680-1789, 2 vols., The Hague/Paris, 1978.

Roche, D. ‘Sciences et pouvoirs dans la France du XVIIIe siécle (1666—1803)’,
Annales. Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 29 (1974), 738-48.

Voss, J. ‘Die Akademien als Organisationstrager der Wissenschaften im 18.
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Yates, F. A. The French Academies of the Sixteenth Century, London, 1947.

Yates, F. A. ‘The Italian Academies’, in F. A. Yates, Renaissance and Reform:
the Italian Contribution, London, 1983, 6-29.

IIo

PART II

STRUCTURES

CHAPTER 3

RELATIONS WITH
AUTHORITY

NOTKER HAMMERSTEIN

The European universities are the oldest surviving European institutions
with the exception of the Catholic Church, and they reveal general
characteristics and developments independent of their national context.
It is not by chance that most university institutions, including more
recent foundations, took Paris and Bologna as their reference points in
their statutes. The organization of learning and of instruction found in
these two most ancient universities was regarded as a model. Following
their example, a university as a centre of study was conceived of as
privileged and was expected to enjoy approval and authorization, papal
and imperial, royal or noble.

Given their medieval background, universities in their legal and insti-
tutional history have been related — to employ a modern formulation —
both to church and to state. Understandably, this relationship has varied
according to place, time and individual influences, with dependency
changing in favour of or to the disadvantage of one side or the other
according to circumstances. The process allowed relative freedom of
action for the university institution itself in different places and at differ-
ent times. Judged in retrospect, there has been a highly complex set of
relationships between university, church and state, relationships that
were particularly complex in the early modern age because of changes
in the overall relationships between church and state.’

If only because of the large number of universities, there are bound
to be frequent exceptions to any general rule. It will, therefore, be neces-
sary, after having provided a general survey of the tendencies of the
period and after having outlined the general conditions which were of
significance for all universities in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries,

’ See chapter 2 and chapter 9, pp. 371-6.

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to go on to discuss features specific to particular countries and to par-
ticular cases within the most important and the most typical European
communities.

During the late Middle Ages new studia generalia had increasingly
appeared alongside the old-established universities, and the way in
which these institutions saw themselves had inevitably changed.* While
basing their justification, as before, on their role as cultivators of the
sciences, scientiae, they no longer made reference to the whole Christian
community. There were more limited horizons, therefore, at least geo-
graphically. And if donors and founders — clerical or secular princes —
did not define their purpose in precise terms, it was in the nature of
things that, as the number of universities rapidly increased, the area from
which they drew their students became smaller. Meanwhile, the univer-
sity institution gained in significance within this more limited area.

Before the Reformation, there were already strains associated with the
Avignon papacy — and more decisively with the various schisms within
the church. The papal claim to universal jurisdiction had already lost
force in favour of feudal and ecclesiastical interests. Nevertheless, the
church still provided learned clerics to serve as leading figures in the
different countries of Europe, while the councils of the fifteenth century
made it clear to secular rulers everywhere in Europe just how successful
and important universities could be and just what social and adminis-
trative advantages they were capable of offering.* The rulers themselves
were seeking more efficient methods of government and more precise
spheres of competence.

The schisms and councils had also strengthened another tendency.
Against the ideal of universality present in the Middle Ages and
expressed in its universities, there was now opposed a growing sense of
patriotic (‘national’) self-determination. There were signs of a stronger
feeling of community within the individual region, the ‘fatherland’, and
as a result the older system of nationes co-existing within universities
could break down. The University of Leipzig owed its very existence to
such tensions: the 1409 members of the German natio at Prague yielded
to the pressure of King Wenzel and were given a welcome reception in
the County of Meissen. The latter was, of course, an extreme case.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE EARLY MODERN STATE

The increasingly consolidated state not only had to employ new and
improved techniques in order to achieve unified consolidation. It also

* See volume 1, chapter 2.

> J. Helmrath, Das Baseler Konzil 1431-1449. Forschungsstand und Probleme (Cologne/
Vienna, 1987), 132-60.

II4

Relations with authority

had to show itself prepared to accept responsibility for spheres for which
the church had hitherto been responsible. This process was to continue
through every century of the early modern age, and it would take a long
time before it was decisively concluded. Yet changes that were to prove
permanent appeared dramatic in the fifteenth century. They determined
the pattern of people’s lives as well as the relationship between state and
church and the conditions under which the universities operated.

Apart from direct service at court or in the church — in the Papal See,
for example — it was within the consolidated state that the necessary
knowledge and technical skills were communicated and administered.
Secular intelligence and knowledge gained a kind of value for their own
sake, and scientiae were no longer considered as studies in the service
of or on behalf of theology. In the new age of printing, which speeded
up communication, there was also a general trend towards the keeping
of written records and towards the rationalization of public life.

There were increased financial requirements, too, on the part both of
church and of state, which were associated with the development of
early forms of diplomacy and of a new military order — mercenaries took
the place of feudal armies of knights — each of which required a ‘public’
financial budget as well as a clearer formulation of rules. Finally, there
was also a growing sense of the importance of learning for increasingly
varied private pursuits as well as for public service. With Luther’s state-
ment — formulated for other reasons — that any occupation, including
the academic, was a calling (Beruf), the convergence of tendencies and
trends was complete.

HUMANISM - REFORMATION - COUNTER-REFORMATION

In changing circumstances, the continuing high evaluation of learning
and of universities as places of learning was given additional decisive
support through ‘humanism’. Ultimately the humanist ‘movement’
appeared in almost every European country, if less intensively in the
northern and south-eastern parts than in the rest, thus making it possible
for the work of humanists in any particular country to help to define
its status as ‘European’.

It is true that humanism was primarily concerned with the artes
liberales and that it did not see itself as providing a system of knowl-
edge — which it did not. Nevertheless, by regarding all activity in the
artes — conceived of in terms of ancient models as liberating the free
individual — and by regarding eruditio and sapientia as guarantees of a
more civilized ethical mode of behaviour, humanism supported other
tendencies making for a better, theoretically more self-aware — and at
the same time more practical — framework of existence. It decisively

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underlined the necessity of learning — not least for the princes — and it
respected only the cultivated, educated man. For anyone who had in any
way to assume public office, learning was insisted upon: priests and
laymen had an equal share in an educative, ‘intellectualistic? movement.

While humanism revealed different characteristics according to
country, external conditions and the timing of its appearance,’ every-
where it was present it was measured against a prototype, the ideal of
Italian Renaissance humanism. North of the Alps, in a feudal environ-
ment with a different conception of the state and of learning, the human-
ists had to develop — in the absence of the Italian city state — parallel
ways of living which could conform to and compete with the southern
ideal. But as far as their fundamental convictions were concerned, par-
ticularly their attitudes to learning and to its methods and content, and
their notion that training and education were indispensable, there was
no difference between them.

At first, the Reformation of Martin Luther represented a serious set-
back to this concept of education, directed as it was towards the secular-
practical and worldly-ethical; and Luther himself even felt obliged to
damn the universities as dangerous agents of the papacy, cult centres of
the heathen Aristotle. Political unrest, difficulties in the spread of the
new learning and, above all, the advice and support of Philip Melanch-
thon soon convinced him, however, that schools and universities could
be special tools of the new faith. Thereafter, the secular powers were
strongly advised to cultivate such institutions;> and as other religious
confessions realized that they could not lag behind, universities were
promoted universally. As they grew, they developed independent, for-
ward-looking, post-Reformation and post-Renaissance self-images.

The formulation of a sapiens et eloquens pietas emerged in the pro-
cess, a kind of compromise between the two intellectual movements,
humanism and the Reformation. Henceforth, the aim of princes was to
have at their disposal qualified clerical and secular servants. They had
to be ‘orthodox’, yet at the same time to be equal to coping with heavy
tasks in state and church.

The loss of unity of faith, which inevitably led in the sixteenth century
to the emergence of various confessions, was to determine for centuries
the relations between different countries and areas within Europe; and

4 H. A. Oberman and T. A. Brady Jr (eds.), Itinerarium Italicum. The Profile of the Italian
Renaissance in the Mirror of its European Transformations, Studies in Medieval and
Reformation Thought, 14 (Leiden, 1975); P. Joachimsen, Gesammelte Aufsdtze, ed. N.
Hammerstein, vol. 1 (Aalen, 1970).

> K. Hartfelder, Philipp Melanchthon als Praeceptor Germaniae (Berlin, 1889; reprint
Nieuwkoop, 1964). Hammerstein, N. ‘Universitaten und Reformation’, Historische
Zeitschrift, 258 (1994), 339-57.

I16

Relations with authority

over time it was to lead to separation, to conflict and even to civil and
European wars. The fact, however, that all confessions rapidly under-
stood that they had to secure a hold over places of learning, both schools
and universities, was significant. True faith and true learning, it was
maintained, could be guaranteed only by correct instruction. Learning
and places of learning thus enjoyed high esteem everywhere. As a result,
alongside the energetic reform of existing institutions in the sixteenth
century more new university foundations appeared.

Very generally, three types of university institution can be identified
corresponding respectively to three confessions. The Wittenberg reforms
which had been effected under the inspiration of humanism and of the
Reformation — and under Melanchthon’s decisive influence — had begun
to influence other places after about 1530. So also had the Strasburg
model of John Sturm, the methodus Sturmiana.® Most of the Reformed
universities brought themselves into alignment with this set of changes.
Yet before long, most of the Catholic universities also, especially when
they came under the influence of the Jesuits, followed the same pattern.
The founding of the Collegium Germanicum et Hungaricum in Rome
in 1533 was of great significance in this context, as was the development
of Jesuit universities in the countries threatened by Protestantism,
especially in the Holy Roman Empire and the German-speaking areas
of Europe.’ Universities such as Ingolstadt, Dillingen or even Vienna had
their own reverse effect upon the style of the order.

For the Calvinists, the Geneva Academy (1599) was highly influential,
but this was after Zurich, Berne and Lausanne had set up ‘places of
higher learning’, partly under the influence of Zwingli, in the late 1520s.
Inspired by the Strasburg and north German university model, yet with-
out the possibilities of imperial, noble or even papal privilege, Geneva
Academy, like many of the academies (schools of higher learning or
gymnasia) which succeeded it, had an unusual structure. This did not
rest on a general division into faculties, although there was an arts fac-
ulty — by far the largest — and parts of a theological faculty with classes
and a fixed curriculum, including prescribed examinations.*® There were
chairs of law and medicine, subjects which did not entail the formation
of a faculty, but which made possible incidental teaching. Herborn,

® A. Schindling, Humanistische Hochschule und Freie Reichsstadt. Gymnasium und Aka-
demie in Strafburg 1538-1621 (Wiesbaden, 1977).

” A. Steinhuber, Geschichte des Collegium Germanikum und Hungarikum in Rom, 2
vols. (Freiburg, 1906); Hengst, Jesuiten.

® U. Im Hof, ‘Die reformierten Hohen Schulen und ihre schweizerischen Stadtstaaten’, in
E. Maschke and J. Sydow (eds.), Stadt und Universitat im Mittelalter und in der friiheren
Neuzeit (Sigmaringen, 1977), 53-70.

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Bremen, Steinfurt, Sedan, Saumur, all of them important and influential
institutions, copied this pattern.’

A group of Calvinist institutions following a more traditional univer-
sity model appeared, however, including Heidelberg and Leiden. Heidel-
berg was one of the leading Calvinist universities in Europe in the period
from around 1570 to 1610. This and similar institutions were less theo-
logically dominated, and also less Aristotelian than Geneva, enjoying
greater freedom from ecclesiastical tutelage. They were also able to
retain a stronger humanistic legacy, even though they were just as firmly
bound to the orthodox - Calvinistic — authorities as other Calvinist
institutions. *°

An exceptional position was taken by those universities, for example
those in England, which developed and adapted the college system. But
these also followed a general tendency to organize their teaching in
accordance with state and church procedures in the sense of encouraging
sapiens et eloquens pietas.'' In many parts of Europe, the universities
and the sciences studied within them - after stagnation and partial
decline during the Reformation — recovered in the wake of polemically
conducted discussions on such procedures, without in every case the
outcomes being confessionally determined.

The new significance granted to the universities in the confessional-
political sphere resulted in attempts by the secular as well as by the
religious authorities to exercise more influence upon them. Princes, privy
councillors, city magistrates, that is to say governing bodies in Luther’s
sense — including also consistories, synodes, presbyteries, canons, chap-
ters, senior members of orders, bishops or curates — all considered them-
selves responsible for determining the correct pursuit and practice of
learning in each case. There was an effort, therefore, to achieve regular
superintendence, supervision and control by means of prescriptions and
decrees by government bodies, by visits and by specially appointed com-
missions. Generally applicable ordinances, demanding subscription to a
creed or to the respective confession or the swearing of an oath to the
Virgin Mary at matriculation or on graduation reflected this.

Nevertheless, the as yet imperfect scope of control of the early modern
state and its very loose centralization made it possible for universities
to elude and frequently to avoid such government ordinances. In prac-

? N. Hammerstein, ‘Schule, Hochschule und Res Publica Litteraria’, in S. Neumeister and
C. Wiedemann (eds.), Res Publica Litteraria. Die Institutionen der Gelehrsamkeit in
der friihen Neuzeit, Wolfenbiitteler Arbeiten zur Barockforschung, 14 (Wiesbaden,
1987), 93-110.

10 N. Hammerstein, ‘The University of Heidelberg in the Early Modern Period: Aspects
of its History as a Contribution to its Sexcentennary’, History of Universities, 6 (1986),
105-33.

" History of Oxford III, 151-201.

I18

Relations with authority

tice, the range of freedom was often greater, therefore, than it was to
be in the nineteenth century, and the necessity to make mutual con-
cessions was more common than might be imagined ffom a perusal of
the prescriptions and decrees themselves. And while the claims of auth-
ority occasionally came into conflict with the traditional, privileged, cor-
poration-based liberties and demands of the universities, in most cases
a kind of acceptable compromise was reached. It was self-evident, of
course, for the emerging state as well as for the church and for the differ-
ent confessions, that more ancient, privileged rights deriving from the
Middle Ages could not be summarily discarded. To this extent, a fragile
but valued independence of the universities survived throughout the
whole of the early modern age in spite of state or church tutelage.

It is fair to generalize that, ffom the sixteenth century onwards, dis-
putes about the precedence of the secular and about the religious bias
of the universities had broken out and taken place almost everywhere.
This was certainly the case in Catholic Europe, particularly in France
and in the Catholic territories of Germany as well as in the Spanish
Netherlands, where the role of the very successful Jesuit order frequently
complicated affairs in already existing institutions, leading to inter-
vention by local authorities. Understandably, such tensions and disputes
did not arise when the Jesuits themselves became active as university
founders or sponsors, as for example in the case of the Universities of
Graz, Molsheim and Paderborn.’

Within the reformed regions, too, similar disputes regarding the true
faith — and its representation — were often no less harsh, even into the
late seventeenth century. As political and religious matters were not con-
ceived of separately in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but rather
as ‘corresponding forms of social existence’, it was inevitable that oppos-
ing attempts to influence or to determine different answers to leading
questions might not complement one another or exist concurrently. The
answers might become confused or they might lead to conflict. Even in
places where universities and schools were regarded as an affair of the
state — as for example in the Lutheran or Anglican Churches — there was
never any guarantee that the ecclesiastical authorities would abstain
ffom intervention or avoid competition with secular government. They
might make demands on their town or attempt to influence events.

Finally, the princes remained dependent on the help and support of
their own religious dignitaries in maintaining the true faith or orthodoxy
as they conceived it. Among such dignitaries there were often theology

” Hengst, Jesuiten, passim; A. Seifert, ‘Studienordnung und Studienfreiheit zwischen
Reformation und katholischer Reform’, in R. Baumer (ed.), Reformatio Ecclesiae: Beitr-
age zu kirchlichen Reformbemihungen von der alten Kirche bis zur Neuzeit. Festgabe
fiir Erwin Iserloh (Paderborn/Munich/Vienna/Zurich, 1980), 661-77.

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professors in addition to bishops, court priests and religious committees,
with the professors ensuring that the university itself, acting in some
cases above and beyond its station, was able to co-determine its place
in any war of strength between church and state. Laud’s reform of
Oxford, the role of the Geneva Academy and that of Leiden for specific
aspects of Calvinism, such as the ‘Heidelberg Catechism’, are all
examples of this.

For the orthodox Lutheran teaching credo in the late sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, Leipzig, Tiibingen, Giessen and Jena exerted auth-
Oritative influence; and even in more modest, more localized institutions,
the role of the local lord might amount to no more than that of enforcing
the theological teaching credo originally formulated at the university.
When the Brandenburg ruling family was converted to Calvinism, the
University of Frankfurt-on-Oder offered theoretical grounds for the
rulers’ decision. The University of Halle, founded in 1692/4, one of the
most important reforming universities in Germany, was also able to take
its Own initiatives when, at the beginning of the German Enlightenment,
it directed its critique against what it considered were too orthodox
modes of theological study followed by Brandenburg-Prussian students
in Leipzig or Wittenberg.

Such institutions were more limited and less frequently found within
the Catholic Church which, despite concordats, continued to enunciate
monarchist-utilitarian papal claims. In consequence, the tendency
towards individual determination of the teaching relevant to a university
was far less marked. Moreover, the possibility of state intervention was
strictly limited. Only in the political sphere of church activities, notably
in Gallican France, in Spain and later in Austria, was there room for
deviation.

At Trent the necessity of scholarly subordination to the church was
affirmed, and with a papal bull of 1564 graduation was directly linked
to an oath of orthodoxy (the professio fidei).’* In the Society of Jesus
the church acquired an order which adopted and formulated such
requirements. Catholic universities thereafter followed a relatively uni-
fied and clear directive in all the artes and in all the theological disci-
plines, which, it was made clear, had not in any way to contradict or
to compete with secular interests. The strict and disciplined teaching
creed of the Jesuits, observed wherever they operated, offered princes
welcome support in their struggle for a unified, centralized control of
their territories and of their government.

3S. Merkle, Das Konzil von Trient und die Universitaten (Wurzburg, 1905); A. Seifert,
Welilicher Staat und Kirchenreform. Die Seminarpolitik Bayerns im 16. Jahrhundert
(Miinster/Westfalen, 1978), 95-105.

I20

Relations with authority

The demand of the Jesuits for lasting influence in this and many other
aspects of public life was to lead to conflicts with the secular powers
during the eighteenth century in the wake of the Enlightenment. Yet in
the fifteenth century and later it was in the interest of the state to incor-
porate within its jurisdiction more and more areas of public life, and
princes and clergy complemented one another rather than standing in
opposition. Given their mutual recognition of the importance of scholar-
ship, there were no contentious issues or serious conflicts. The universit-
ies thus continued to exist as ecclesiastical or secular institutions, the
balance being as varied as was the public life of that period. At the
same time, their statutes drew attention to the fact that the cultivation
of scholarship was one of the most ‘noble duties’ of the prince, whether
through the establishment of new foundations or through the implemen-
tation of reforms within existing institutions.

The occasionally relaxed relationship between church and state was
further expressed in the fact that a supra-confessional, non-polemic
sphere — what may be called a ‘pre-confessional’ course of studies —
survived in certain areas of learning despite the inevitable partition of
the different religious confessions within territories assigned to them.
And members of the nobility might continue to follow a peregrinatio in
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that could lead them to ‘unortho-
dox’ universities abroad. The graduation particularly of law and medical
students at such institutions was a common occurrence."*

Such peregrinationes, wherever they led — and they were a phenom-
enon to be encountered only in central, northern and eastern Europe —
often made possible better careers at home, even, if seldom, for theo-
logians and students of the artes. Particular institutions had after all
emerged for such purposes, such as the Collegium Germanicum in
Rome, Dillingen in the Holy Roman Empire, and Graz and later Vilnius
for eastern central Europe. Geneva and Leiden, and for a time Heidel-
berg and Herborn, offered the same service for the Calvinists, and Stras-
burg, Leipzig and Wittenberg for the Lutherans.

Peregrinationes characterize a not unimportant stage in the evolution
of early modern studies. Universities could remain locations of a respub-
lica litteraria — as Erasmus had called it — centres of Christian rather
than confessionally determined intellectual society; and they could foster
a society based on companionship in which social class distinctions were
absorbed or disappeared altogether. With the approval of the lords —
and this was frequently neither consistent nor for that matter conscious,
often deriving, as it did, from the influence of privy councillors —
genuine academic freedom could thus continue to be maintained despite

4 See chapter ro.

I21I

Notker Hammerstein

confessional disputes. In the Empire, for example, it could be maintained
in a confessional age at Heidelberg, Helmstedt, Jena, Frankfurt-on-Oder
and Salzburg and, for a time, in France at Orléans, Bourges and
Montpellier. Italian examples of tolerance were Bologna, Siena and
Padua, and there was also a long period of such tolerance at Basle and
Leiden.

ABSOLUTISM AND ENLIGHTENMENT

As recognition of the hopelessness of regaining Christian unity by force
became general, as princes gained in power and reputation, and as
absolutist practices of government spread, the attention of the secular
powers was directed towards their own responsibility for the universities
and for scholarship. Meanwhile, the development both of more practical
and less polemic theology in universities and of a systematic law of natu-
ral rights increasingly made clear to secular powers the scope of their
responsibility.

From the second half of the seventeenth century onwards, new opi-
nions of this kind were to be advanced, at first hesitantly, primarily in
the Netherlands and the Protestant territories of the Empire. And in the
France of Louis XIV also, a state view assumed primacy over that of the
church. With the spread of the Enlightenment from the late seventeenth
century onwards, the claim that responsibility for universities should
belong to the secular power was strengthened in those places like Spain,
Tuscany, the Netherlands, Scotland, the Empire and Poland, where uni-
versities were regarded as important agencies of scholarly education.

Nevertheless, during the early modern age, the state never acquired
exclusive jurisdiction in relation to the universities, even when the
demand for it was extensively demanded and promoted. The claim to
such exclusive jurisdiction never completely ousted that of the churches.
Nor in eighteenth-century Europe, still bound to the church, was dog-
matic theology renounced as a university science. In Catholic countries
that were under the influence of the Enlightenment this pattern was fol-
lowed, even if they distinctly lagged behind non-Catholic countries.

The once successful and intellectually prominent Jesuit order had, in
the meantime, become so backward, because of the strict observance by
the Jesuits of the 1599 ratio studiorum, that its dissolution in 1772 was
generally greeted as a liberation pointing towards modern possibilities
of scientific education. Before that, Reformist groups in Catholic count-
ries had already opposed the order. Whether they were Jansenists, Maur-
ins, the so-called Muratori circle, Piarists or church princes with secular
functions, they all promoted the view that princes should control the
organization of worldly matters.

I22

Relations with authority

In the course of the early modern age, the desire was often expressed
that more instruction in practical matters, realia, should be introduced,
and this desire became stronger in the enlightened thinking of the second
half of the eighteenth century. It was also associated then with a more
general critique. Hitherto, it had been the aim to find more room for
the natural sciences, for mechanical-technical arts, everywhere neglected
in the universities, and for the introduction of notions of knowledge less
indebted to theology, and this aim had led to the creation of non-
university foundations such as academies.'’’ Now the opinion was
expressed also that universities as institutions were out of date and
superfluous and that more relevant and up-to-date special institutions,
primarily for useful and indispensable disciplines, should be created.
Subjects as different as surgery, pharmaceutical and veterinary medicine,
the science of administration, midwifery, agriculture and military science
ought, it was now claimed, to be promoted in this way.

Insufficient enlightenment, entrenched attitudes, secluded intellectual-
ism and vis inertiae were in the eighteenth century enemies of the univer-
sities in many places, for example in France, England and Italy, and to
some extent also on the Iberian peninsula. However, in those places
where the universities were given a new stimulus in the wake of the
Enlightenment — especially in Germany and in the Protestant and later
in the Catholic parts of the Empire, in the Netherlands, in Scotland, to
some extent in Sweden and Poland — they remained vital and respected
institutions. By providing the state with suitably qualified servants, and
thus making it capable of ‘enlightened reforms’, they sometimes enjoyed
remarkable prosperity, as in Glasgow and Edinburgh, Pisa and Leiden,
Gottingen, Ingolstadt, Leipzig, Vienna, Strasburg, Cracow and Lund.

In such cases the study of economics, variously interpreted, but often
related to moral philosophy, helped to make this success possible, as did
new subjects like philology. Theology, by contrast, now held only an
inferior position, although it remained within the system of university
disciplines and was capable of regeneration. It still provided an under-
pinning for the sciences and _ methodologically shaped _ their
understanding.

In Russia, the western-oriented policies of Peter the Great and the
attempts of his daughter Elizabeth to modernize the country led in the
eighteenth century to the foundation of the University of Moscow as
well as the St Petersburg Academy. Leiden, the universities of the Empire
and some other northern universities served as models. It was the crown,

'S See chapter 11, pp. 480ff. J. Voss, ‘Die Akademien als Organisationstrager der Wissen-
schaften im 18. Jahrhundert’, Historische Zeitschrift, 231 (1980), 43-74; N. Ham-
merstein, ‘The Modern World, Sciences, Medicine and Universities’, History of Univer-
sities, 8 (1989), 151-78.

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not the church, that supported and promoted these institutions. Indeed,
the Orthodox Church long regarded them with reserve and distrust.

The universities were not everywhere treated as meaningful insti-
tutions, however, and in the wake of the continuing Enlightenment, it
often seemed merely a matter of time in the second half of the eighteenth
century before the state would abolish them as institutions and replace
them with new ones. During the French Revolution, this was actually to
happen, although the example of France was not followed everywhere.
Nevertheless, from then onwards the state, the secular power as opposed
to the ecclesiastical, became exclusively responsible for the organization
of these institutions.

FRENCH UNIVERSITIES

The French universities, of which Paris, Montpellier and Orléans were
among the most ancient, enjoyed a considerable reputation even in the
late Middle Ages. They were institutions of European standing, leading
centres of medieval scholarship, founded largely as self-governing
bodies, primarily to satisfy religious needs; and while the priests within
them and the church operating from outside had superintending func-
tions over them, it would be an oversimplification to characterize them
as clerically governed institutions. As the history of the Sorbonne in par-
ticular demonstrates, the university itself incorporated and influenced a
significant part of the church, co-determining the teaching of theology."®

The more unified development of the French Kingdom after the Hun-
dred Years War and the strengthening of the crown, not only bound
secular power more closely to the king, but also implied a closer incor-
poration of the church — as a Gallican institution — within the com-
munity. To this extent, the Catholic Church held a somewhat unusual
position in the French Kingdom. It had a kind of double function, being
a part of the state under the ‘most Christian of kings’ and a part of the
universalist, orthodox Roman Church. Yet as a ‘state church’, it was
closely linked through its church princes to the throne, equal to and
even superior to the papacy.

The weakness of the church during the period of schism and council,
which had in turn made learned clerics increasingly influential, made
the secular powers seek to extend their influence and power over the
universities. Thus, in the fifteenth century, a range of new foundations,
located mainly in places which exercised some kind of central function
for the region, were brought into existence to serve (territorial) state
interests; and the parliaments — above all the Parliament of Paris, but

"© Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 127-8, 223-31.

124

Relations with authority

also the provincial parliaments and royal lawcourts and other insti-
tutions — were made increasingly responsible for the places of higher
learning. At first, they continued to retain a degree of independence,
but particularly during the sixteenth century and mainly on the basis
of lawsuits instigated by interested parties, they were subject to new
regulations, arréts, covering their internal and external organization. The
new university centres, which were located both in places with parlia-
ments and in bishoprics, served as training centres for civil and church
servants. They had close connections, therefore, with the ancien régime.

Initially rather hesitantly disposed towards humanism, the French uni-
versities — at least in a few important disciplines — only gradually opened
themselves up to its influence. The promotion of new courtly arts and
styles of life supported this development: thus, Francis I donated a few
chairs and, on the recommendation of Budé, founded in 1530 the
humanistic Collége des lecteurs royaux, which later became the Collége
de France. Many other powerful people followed the same pattern just
as emphatically, if in their own way. Through this process French
Renaissance culture and the adoption of humanistic ideals and methods
signified an advance for the universities and encouraged important initia-
tives, especially for the leading law faculties and a few medical faculties
such as Orléans, Bourges, Toulouse, Montpellier and Paris. This
renewal, which saw itself as secular, was aimed at an improvement in
community life. It was not directly anticlerical.

Theology, strongly scholastic in character in France, was only mar-
ginally affected by humanism, however, and ultimately remained
untouched by it, thus encouraging the conservatism of the universities.
Only with the advancement of unorthodox movements, and with the
religious wars, was it placed under stress, especially in the Sorbonne.
Subsequently, Parisian theology served as a guardian of conservative
orthodoxy and held tight to its scholastic basis, while putting greater
emphasis on polemical and moral disciplines. In its own way, indeed, it
strongly promoted the confessionalization of all areas of life, and that
was to lead to the creation of new institutions and to the development
of new teaching practices, each of decisive importance in relation to the
emergence of the educational system of the early modern period.

Colleges, offering an introduction to attendance at a university, were
set up everywhere, or existing ones were adapted to new ideas. Those
colleges that had already existed or had derived from more ancient foun-
dations had proved highly susceptible to reform during the Reformation.
Now the situation changed as parliaments and universities united in their
rejection of the Reformation; and colleges could be compelled to associ-
ate themselves with a new Counter-Reformational alignment. The way
in which their teaching was now structured diverged conceptually from

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humanist ideas, and after the Tridentine Edict of 1563, it was authoritat-
ively demanded — by magistrates, lords, chaplains and bishops — that
orthodoxy be universally enforced. In pursuit of this policy some new
schools were founded,’” and the crown and local officials, both secular
and clerical, made increasing use of the Jesuits during the second half
of the sixteenth century in order to achieve their purposes.

There was opposition not only from the Huguenots, but also in part
from parliaments and from the universities themselves, afraid of losing
their privileges. Neither were the supporters of a Gallic or humanist
Catholicism very happy about this development. Yet the Society of Jesus,
in an advantageous position in France, was as difficult to check as it
was in other Catholic countries, especially after Henry IV, as a sign of
his confidence in the Jesuits, created secured teaching entitlements for
them by the Edict of Rouen in 1603. From the 1570s onwards, they
were able to take control of theological and arts subjects at many,
although not at all, universities. They were unable, however, to found
their own universities, as was possible in the Empire, except at Pont-a-
Mousson in 1571 on Lotharingian territory, from which war was
declared on previously founded Calvinist schools of learning.

Apart from the Society of Jesus, other orders and associations, like the
Oratorians and the Barnabites, were involved in Catholic pre-university
education, in each case with the consent of the local authorities. And
while the Sorbonne stubbornly rejected the idea of affiliating a Jesuit, it
could do so with impunity because of its own ‘orthodoxy’.

The schism thus meant that French schools and universities were sub-
ject to rigid control; and if at first internal statutory regulations remained
untouched and professors and students retained a certain self-
administration, they were all put under confessional oath, their reading
materials were censored, and study abroad — particularly at clearly ident-
ifiable ‘oppositional’ institutions — was forbidden.

After Henry II undertook a determined struggle against the Prot-
estants, the secular powers laid emphasis upon guardianship and super-
vision of the universities and colleges, and by two important royal
ordinances — Orléans in 1561 and Blois in 1579 — educational insti-
tutions throughout the country were committed to indoctrination in
orthodoxy. The great significance which the Huguenots attached to edu-
cation had a counter-effect, therefore, upon those of the old faith.

Seeing that successful Calvinist ‘semi-universities’ were being brought
into existence with the active support of Protestant lords and their coun-
cillors - as in Sedan (1599) — or the magistrates — as in Saumur (1604)

Chartier, Education en France; M.-M. Compére, Du collége au lycée (1500-1850).

Généalogie de l’enseignement secondaire francais (Paris, 1985); R. Mousnier, Les Insti-
tutions de la France sous la monarchie absolue 1598-1789, vol. 1 (Paris, 1980).

126

Relations with authority

and Montauban (1598),'® it seemed essential to Catholic secular and

clerical powers that they should likewise make use of educational insti-
tutions. When civil war broke out, crown and church had to proceed in
unison, leaving on one side disputes about precedence that would have
hindered successful counter-attack. Inevitably, the universities, not
spared the consequences of the wars, suffered under these conditions.

Only after the end of the confessional wars and with the Edict of
Nantes in 1598 — which incidentally allowed Protestants to be awarded
academic degrees — might it have been possible for differences of opinion
concerning the jurisdiction of state and church over the universities to
have been reconciled. Yet the strong link between the French (high)
clergy and the state, already mentioned, and the influence of the crown
on the filling of the most important church offices was a hindrance to
any such reconciliation.

The decline of the universities during the religious wars could never
entirely be made good. Henceforth, they remained closely tied to the -
Catholic — interests of the state, serving increasingly as mere preparatory
schools for those wishing to follow state and church careers. As such,
they admittedly remained important, since from the fifteenth century
onwards graduation became a condition for a career in higher civil or
clerical service; and it was deemed to be the duty of the universities to
ensure that positive teachings on crown, parliament and church, seen as
complementary public institutions, were properly diffused. There was
little scope, therefore, for any Reformist notions other than those accept-
able to the church, especially in the theological sphere. Meanwhile,
priests were increasingly educated in religious seminaries, a sign that
theology was declining in significance: no longer did it stand at the centre
of religious life. New and often fruitful discourse at the court, in the
parliaments or in Paris was only exceptionally influenced by impulse
from within the universities.

As with public careers, university careers continued to proceed
through hereditary descent with nepotistic undertones. Professors elected
from their own ranks reinforced this process. Inducement to attend uni-
versities was also lacking. Except when local conditions were favour-
able - for example, in places where a large hinterland continued to offer
career opportunities — student numbers declined rapidly when compared
with those of the sixteenth century. The nobility preferred their own
institutions, ‘academies for nobles’, to university law faculties and only
needed the university for graduation qualifications.

As far as either state or church was concerned, therefore, there was
no reason to pay increased attention to the universities in the seventeenth

*® Brockliss, French Higher Education.

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century, although under Louis XIV and Colbert, an attempt was made
to introduce a better organization of teaching duties and, through a
réglement of 1679, law studies were reorganized. Among other things,
professorships in French law were instituted, and other professorships
which were limited to the teaching of specific subjects. By a royal declar-
ation of 1700 the period of study was also fixed precisely, and in 1701
medical studies were reorganized, a reorganization only of significance,
however, for Montpellier and Paris.

Such reforms did not have any extensive influence. On the contrary,
the premature and — for the time — highly progressive establishment of
French legal studies in the decree of 1700 actually stood in the way of
later enlightened initiatives. Accordingly, there was never any treatment
in the universities of subjects like public law or natural law. In conse-
quence, French jurisprudence, frozen around 1700, became as hostile to
reform as theology.’’ In many respects, the legal code determined by the
state later facilitated Napoleonic legislation.

While attendance at the University of Paris was in general a good
career recommendation, often guaranteeing access to leading posts in
the land, because of centralization many French universities remained
rather small institutions in the eighteenth century. Some did not include
all four faculties, and the medical faculty in particular was frequently
unrepresented. Two of the three institutions with a law faculty — Rennes
and Dijon — had no national significance. Only Orléans had this.

Conditions within the universities varied greatly as far as numbers of
students and levels of achievement were concerned. On only one point
were the universities nationally in agreement — that they should reject
the publication of details concerning vacant positions and the idea of a
concours de l’agrégation, as was demanded by the parliaments in the
late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The small-minded, generally
narrow style of most French universities was thus maintained.

In such a situation, there could be no esprit de corps in the universities.
They retained a kind of neglected grandeur, important for certain pro-
fessions, but lacking social prestige. They were no longer places for the
intellectual self-expression of the nation.

As church and state were united in their intention — and in their
methods — of establishing and developing a powerful monarchic state,
and as the crown recognized the church as a support for its own auth-
ority, there was no reason why in France church and state should com-
pete in their influence on the country’s universities. The universities were
now required only to fulfil conscientiously their appointed tasks, and
this they did in most cases. They maintained a certain freedom of move-

Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 231-9.

128

Relations with authority

ment in their internal and general organization — within a framework
determined by the parliaments — and were thus able to exist more or
less to their own satisfaction. They had no greater aims in mind. They
were not expected to have any, and therefore they were able to a certain
extent to keep to themselves.

UNIVERSITIES IN THEIBERIAN PENINSULA

Clerical, though less frequently secular, dignitaries, and occasionally
municipal magistrates, had made possible the establishment —- consist-
ently privileged by the popes — of general places of learning on the Iber-
ian peninsula. Created mainly on the Bologna model, with an emphasis
on canon and secular law, they played a distinctive role in the pan-
European development of universities in the Middle Ages. The crown
was more often indirectly than directly involved in their inauguration
and in their legal framework, but it successfully guaranteed their status
as universities.

The unification of Spain under Ferdinand and Isabella in the late fif-
teenth century, overseas expansion and the international policies of the
Habsburg Charles V (1516-56) did not merely mean an expansion of
horizons for the country’s universities. A multitude of new tasks and
new Offices in the service of state and church opened up brilliant possibil-
ities for their graduates. It is true that the unity of the new state remained
loose, but the liberation of the country from non-Christian dominion,
followed by the development of a world empire, broadened academic
horizons. As a result, the three great universities of Castile — Alcala,
Salamanca and Valladolid -— greatly expanded in numbers and formu-
lated claims in the first half of the sixteenth century that long influenced
intellectual discussion far beyond the boundaries of Spain itself.

Since they were often answerable to themselves and everywhere
answerable to the regional authorities, it was not possible for Charles
V as part of his broadly based policies to occupy himself with these
institutions, and many of them were open, therefore, to the spirit of the
age. Humanistic ideas in the sphere of theology — ideas that were derived
from Erasmus and his followers — enabled not only theology but phil-
ology and the study of Antiquity to flourish, leading, for example, to the
establishment of a chair of Arabic in Salamanca in 1542. Legal studies,
nevertheless, especially canon law, retained their prominent position.

In 1480, with the agreement of Ferdinand and Isabella, the counts of
Toledo had decreed that the crown had the right to demand academic
diplomas whenever a student desired a post within the civil service, and
the universities organized their teaching in accordance with this require-
ment. Yet, this was not the only way in which the growing interest of

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the state in the recruitment of scientifically skilled government servants
educated in a ‘modern’ manner was displayed. While the teachings of
Erasmus were enthusiastically received in Spain, it was also an
undoubted fact that the legitimation of higher studies lay in such govern-
ment service. The clergy, the court and the members of the government
were at one in acknowledging this.

There was a related attempt, therefore, during the sixteenth century,
to link older colleges more closely with the universities in order to ensure
the preparation of future students on humanist lines. They simul-
taneously provided both the necessary organization and the necessary
content of knowledge, without themselves taking control of the teach-
ing — as was the case later in other parts of Europe.*° In a certain sense,
university studies had a Christian secular bias. As a result, many orders
in Spain sought to gain control of the education of the next generation
and to transfer the training of simple priests away from the universities
in the direction of purely ecclesiastical institutions. Later, such moves
were tO present serious competition for the universities themselves.

Contact with the heathen world abroad and the church’s fear of
excessively tolerant Christian attitudes in face of unsettling non-Catholic
faiths were important factors influencing the speedy unfolding of new
policy. Once again, the crown and church acted in concord, even though
Philip II (1556-98) left no doubt that the Catholic ecclesiastical policy
was to be Spanish. In questions of education, which was considered an
important task of the state, the teachers were to produce useful servants
for church and state in accordance with Catholic Spanish policies
decreed by the crown. The ultimate aims of education were thus deter-
mined by the Catholic monarch, who claimed the leading role, even if
he acted in consultation with the church.

For the universities there were inevitable consequences, associated also
with the knowledge that Spain had become the leading secular power
in the European Counter-Reformation. The open spirituality of Erasmus
inevitably gave way to a more severe persuasion. Prescribed, controlled,
censored orthodoxy, together with the greatest possible isolation from
all dangerous opinions that were contrary to tradition, became precepts
of raison d’état as well as of church doctrine. In 1559, attendance at
foreign universities was forbidden, and only under strict conditions
could subjects of the Spanish crown matriculate in Rome, Naples, Coim-
bra or at the Spanish college in Bologna. The Spain of Philip II increas-
ingly fell back upon its Catholic tradition, and while this on occasion
might have an enriching effect, for the universities the consequences were

20 R. L. Kagan, ‘Universities in Castile 1500-1810’, in Stone (ed.), The University in
Society, vol. 1, 355-405; Kagan, Students and Society, 109-58.

130

Relations with authority

more negative. They increasingly declined into narrow traditionalist edu-
cational institutions for clerical or secular careers. The law faculties gen-
erally outnumbered the theological faculties, and canon law remained
central. There was no introduction of new legal subjects as there was in
non-Spanish Europe.

The arts and theological faculties, increasingly in the hands of
religious orders, Dominicans as well as Jesuits, developed a narrow out-
look, stunted to some extent or diverted into colleges for the orders, and
these went on to offer ever-increasing competition for the universities
themselves. Influential chairs were established for the Dominicans at Sal-
amanca in 1605, but the Jesuits, who in accordance with their ratio
studiorum offered stimulating teaching that was not merely narrowly
traditionalist, in the long run took no far-reaching initiatives. From the
second half of the seventeenth century the order began to stagnate
intellectually.

It is easily understandable, therefore, that university attendance went
down, declining drastically after 1650, and that the intellectual life of
Spain could no longer be identified with the life of its universities. An
important factor, equally restrictive and hostile to reform, was the mon-
opolistic way in which important secular and clerical posts were filled
in universities or in subordinate institutions. The original colegios may-
ores were regarded as family property and became institutions for the
dispensing of benefices. The graduate scholars accepted by them
employed their period of time there — before the assumption of the
desired office — in working for a short period as teaching professors,
especially in the faculties of law. That guaranteed the decline of these
faculties, too. At best, such circumstances led to the passing on of
canonical, but static, legal knowledge.’

Even if royal advisers occasionally objected to this system, they could
not dismantle it. Inspections were a failure, as were other attempts at
reform. As the royal councillors of Castile had in fact achieved their
offices and their authority by following this route, they remained under
an obligation to their colegios and did not contemplate fundamental
changes. Moreover, as the training of ‘normal priests’ and the provision
of skills in the arts increasingly took place at schools which were run
by the orders in competition, neither church nor crown felt any necessity
to insist energetically on improvements in education. Both officials with
a working knowledge of law and religious seminarists were more than
abundantly available. It is true that the new Bourbon dynasty made
attempts at reform in the first half of the eighteenth century, with the

1 M. Peset, ‘Universidades espafiolas y universidades europeas’, Ius Commune, 12 (1984),

71-89; M. Peset, ‘La monarchie absolue et les universités espagnoles’, CRE-
Information, 72 (1985), 75-104; Kagan, Students and Society, 62-73.

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intention of encouraging law students to pay more regard to notions
of domestic and natural law. But these attempts failed because of the
entanglement of both church and state in the educational system and
the rigid traditionalism of the universities themselves.

It fits this picture that, during the late sixteenth and seventeenth cen-
turies, the universities were characterized by indolent attitudes and
extensive student abuses. In the absence of intellectual excitement, a kind
of ‘subculture’ developed, with neither the universities nor the secular
or ecclesiastical authorities able or willing to bring it under control.
Meanwhile, decisions on national cultural matters, including taste, style
and literature, were made in Madrid, a city with a court but without a
university.

It is easy to understand why the champions of the Enlightenment, who
were gaining increasing ground in Spain after 1750, had extreme diffi-
culty in coping with this state of affairs. Significantly, they had a chance
of influencing matters only in alliance with the crown, which had
occasional successes under Charles III (1759-88). Clerical as well as
secular reformers, the latter understandably more important, sought
above all to promote the philosophical faculties, and soon the latter
outnumbered the law faculties, a fact of strategic importance in enlight-
ened despotic attempts at reform. They were successful in breaking the
power of the colegios mayores and in giving instruction a less clerical
basis. In accordance with national economic and political shifts, the
institutions of Aragon increasingly gained control. All in all, however,
little more was attained in the eighteenth century than noteworthy and
encouraging moves in the right direction. The traditionalist forces
proved to be too strong. Thereafter, wars that followed in the wake of
the French Revolution prevented a continuation of all such moves, and
new impulses were successful only during the nineteenth century.

Lisbon, and then Coimbra, both owed their rise and their advance-
ment to the royal families of Portugal, although they — like universities
everywhere else in Europe — saw themselves as being equally subordinate
to the authority of the church. In the fifteenth century, the influence of
the crown increased decisively; thanks to Henry the Navigator, in par-
ticular, disciplines were promoted which were able to support the
important navigational requirements of government. Under Emmanuel
I (1495-1521), when further demands were made on the services of the
universities, humanist ideas entered Portugal, and the king himself as
‘protector’ directly superintended studies and professors. Under his suc-
cessor, John III (1521-57), it was already considered normal that the
king had powers of decision over the conditions of appointments to prof-
essorial chairs.

In 1537, during his reign, the University of Lisbon was dissolved, and

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Relations with authority

studies were centralized in Coimbra, where the king successfully
sought — at considerable financial cost — to recruit good professors cap-
able of providing at a high level studies in all four faculties. Soon the
institution had a reputation which was acknowledged far beyond the
borders of Portugal.

It was often customary for Portuguese students to study abroad, and
among places they frequently visited were Paris and Salamanca, and the
Collége de Guienne in Bordeaux. For the greater encouragement of aca-
demic achievement, the king now donated funds for fifty scholarship
places for gifted Portuguese students at the Collége de Sainte Barbe in
Paris. In 1542, in accordance with contemporary and humanist ideas,
he also established a Collegium in Portugal itself, with a view to better
preparing students for studies at university.

With the Counter-Reformation, the Jesuits, against the will of the uni-
versity, appeared in Coimbra, taking control of the Collegium in 1555,
and henceforth they decisively determined the content of courses, some-
times in agreement with the local Inquisition. Many professors were now
sent to prison because they were considered to be too ‘humanist’. More-
over, as the Jesuits had in addition obtained from the king the exclusive
right to teach Latin and philosophy at the Collegium Artistarum, con-
formity to strict Counter-Reformational educational policy could be
decisively enforced. Coimbran Aristotelianism, which had just reached
its high point, had had an effect on large parts of Europe, and especially
on the Reformers. Indeed, Lutheran Aristotelianism is as unthinkable
without Francisco Suarez and Petrus de Fonseca as it would be, for
example, without the Benedictine new scholasticism of Salzburg in the
seventeenth century.

It was the achievement of the king’s brother, Henry, cardinal and
archbishop of Evora, that the Collegium there was raised to the rank of
a Jesuit university in 1558-9. It was an institution with an arts faculty
as well as a theological faculty, and in addition, jus canonicum was
taught. The Jesuits also obtained the right to establish a Collegium for
preparatory courses, offering training primarily for preachers and priests
for missions in Brazil and India. In Luis de Molina, Evora had a teacher
with a fame and influence reaching far beyond Portugal.

The universities, professors as well as students, were in the main deter-
mined opponents of the brief unification of Portugal and Spain which
began in 1580. After the punishment of those who opposed the Spanish
dynasty, the old royal palace in Coimbra was sold to the university,
which secured its privileges and had a succession of new statutes, the
last of which, of 1612, were confirmed by the new Portuguese king in
1653 and lasted until Pombal’s time. However, the academic institutes
were active supporters of the House of Braganza in the war against Spain

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after 1640. Yet, the new kings kept the universities at the level which
suited them, appointing and supervising the — mostly noble — rectors
and other administrative and professional university officers. It was from
the universities that important church dignitaries were recruited, men
who were responsible among other tasks for the christianization and
civilization of the colonies. While the crown attempted to direct the con-
tent and alignment of teaching for secular purposes, it was attached to
the Counter-Reformational ideals of a fighting church, ideals that were
maintained with Jesuit support. )

In Portugal, Enlightenment reforms were associated with the name
of the leading minister under Joseph I, the marquis of Pombal (1750-
77), who pushed enlightened despotism to its extremes, insisting upon
the domination of state secular power in all spheres, including edu-
cation. Evora as a school of higher learning was closed in 1759, the
Jesuit order was generally forbidden, Coimbra was reformed, and a
royal statute of 1772 regulated, in minute detail, university life. Practi-
cal subjects such as mathematics and experimental natural science
disciplines were promoted and taught at autonomous faculties. Aristo-
telianism as a fundamental science was excluded.

Pombal’s reforms were characterized by the state listing of prescribed
books, a stronger emphasis on jurisprudence as opposed to theology,
which was no longer dominant, a generally less ecclesiastical alignment
within the institution, greater autonomy and responsibility for the pro-
fessors — within the framework of their appointed tasks — and preferen-
tial treatment for Jansenist ideas. The reforms rejuvenated the university,
reorganizing it according to Catholic enlightened thinking.** To this
extent, they prepared the way for the development of new sciences that
would establish their place in the nineteenth century.

UNIVERSITIES IN THE BRITISH ISLES

The close relationship between Crown and political nation under the
Tudors made it possible for England to achieve a sense of a unified, early
modern community. The Reformation was introduced into England
under Henry VIII (1505-43) by an act of state. Only later was the break
with Rome to assume a more religious flavour. Yet the break had
extensive effects on the nation and its educational system. With the dec-
laration, under the Act of Supremacy of 1534, that the king was the
‘only supreme head on earth of the church of England’, a close connec-
tion between political and ecclesiastical jurisdiction was immediately

22M. Branddo and M. Lopes de Almeida, A Universidade de Coimbra. Esbo¢o da sua
historia (Coimbra, 1937).

134

Relations with authority

established, and the church, once so powerful in England, had hence-
forth to become subordinate to the crown. In 1532 it had already lost
the clerical jurisdiction that had been enforced throughout the country,
and in 1538, with the dissolution of the monasteries, it also lost its
property. These changes were accompanied by a reorganization of the
system of instruction.

In his De republica Anglorum of 1538, Sir Thomas Smith had stated
that ‘the Prince is the life, the head and the authority of all things that
be done in the realm of England’; and the nation’s two universities,
Oxford and Cambridge, each with a long tradition, a tradition that had
been enhanced in the fifteenth century when they increasingly saw them-
selves as independent corporations, were forced to accept the new set of
circumstances. As far as the content of teaching and institutional
arrangements were concerned, there was little change at first, however,
except that the teaching of the jus canonicum and certain theological
scholasticisms was forbidden.

Following the Elizabethan settlement that came after a period of
unstable and changing conditions under Edward and Mary, the crown
claimed, together with its church, supreme authority over both universit-
ies; and, as with other privileged bodies, these were incorporated within
the kingdom and in 1604 received two seats each in parliament. In
accordance with the Act of Uniformity and the relevant articles of faith,
their members had also to be loyal adherents of the Anglican Church.
In 1581 Oxford had been obliged by statute to pledge an oath of
allegiance, which Cambridge was doubtless expected to pledge likewise.

Of more significance were other tendencies that began to emerge in
the sixteenth century. One of the most momentous of them was the
preference given to common law - and to common lawyers — at the
centre of the English legal system, and the consequent removal of practi-
cal legal education from the universities. It is true that Roman law con-
tinued to be taught there, but English ‘lawyers’ now had to pass through
the London Inns of Court, and there was no longer any legal faculty in
the continental sense either in Oxford or in Cambridge.

The English Renaissance, which as a broadly accepted movement only
had its full impact after the Reformation, led among other things to a
dramatic increase in university attendance, which almost became
‘fashionable’, and for a few decades the universities were full nearly to
bursting point with students. Within this context the purpose of univer-
sity attendance was not ‘professionalization’, but education to promote
the ‘civil conversation’ of the ‘gentleman’, and the achievement of this
purpose was doubtless promoted by the absence of law students. Time
spent in a university allowed contacts to be made that would help in
later life, but this advantage was deemed subordinate in importance to

Notker Hammerstein

the inculcation of good manners and correct religious and political
views. Students’ parents shared this approach.

The distinctively English college system was well suited to the achieve-
ment of this purpose; and in the course of the sixteenth century, the
colleges gradually took over from the older communities, the halls.
Within them, after 1570, studies were carried out, with tutors, regent
masters, adopting the supervisory and also the teaching functions of pro-
fessors. The latter were not to be prominent again as teachers until the
eighteenth century. While different traditions developed in the individual
colleges, depending on the will of the donors, patrons and providers,
both sacred and secular, including the crown itself, the general aim — that
of fostering the caring supervision and education of cultivated, orthodox
subjects — was common to all.?°

As the self-governing organs of the universities were tightened up, this
was very much in line with the Tudor policy of making the country
more unified and of centralizing it through the church, which in its turn
was moving in the direction of oligarchy and centralization. In Cam-
bridge in 1570, it was established by statute that only the heads of the
colleges were to represent and to lead the university. The whole of the
teaching body lost its responsibilities. The move was made in order to
counter the open attitude of many colleges, even if the situation of the
colleges was in general strengthened. In Oxford, where the development
was similar, the statutes of Laud in 1636 followed the same pattern, as
the university was attached to the ‘royal supremacy and the customs of
the university’. These conditions remained applicable into the nineteenth
century. The dress of the professors and students remained religious,
and college fellows, in contrast to the priests outside the university, were
not allowed to marry. There were, of course, exceptions to this rule,
which was above all determined by economics. The insufficient financial
strength of the university colleges made it impossible to guarantee mar-
ried men — and their families — an adequate salary.

Crown and parliament, and therefore also the official English Church,
acted in concert during the Tudor age, taking no account of opposition
whether from Catholics, who by a later Act of Parliament were excluded
from the taking of degrees, or from Puritans, the later nonconformists,
the passionate supporters of further-reaching church reforms. Freedom
from opposition did not encourage the universities to pursue their
research independently, imaginatively and in a forward-looking manner.
They contented themselves mainly with the reproduction of traditional
prescribed ideas. It was of little consequence that Cambridge, which

23 Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1; History of Oxford III, passim.

136

Relations with authority

under Elizabeth I surpassed Oxford in academic quality, was less royal
and Anglican than the latter.

It was not without reason, therefore, that both universities were
increasingly subject to criticism from academic reformers. The decline
in the number of students and the relative unproductivity of the univer-
sities were matters of concern within the context of the emerging
struggles in the country during the seventeenth century. In addition,
offices, including university offices, were increasingly becoming heredi-
tary during this period. Because of this strength of family — and of
‘ecclesiastical families’ in particular — new career possibilities that were
genuinely open were only few. Finally, the civil war inevitably affected
the universities, even if all parties considered it the duty of the govern-
ment, of the crown, to determine faith in the country. Between 1640
and 1660, an improvement of university studies in the spirit of Comenius
and the ‘realists’ was discussed, but the effort had as little chance of
success as the attempt of the Society of Jesus to gain control over the
schools in England after 1633.

With the restoration of the Stuart monarchy, there was an even more
decisive formulation of old principles. The Act of Uniformity of 1662
made it impossible for all non-Anglicans to attend the universities, and
this led to the founding of nonconformist academies outside the aegis
of ‘state and church’. There was also a looking abroad. Catholics studied
on the continent; nonconformists turned increasingly to Scotland. The
intellectual emptiness of the English universities in the eighteenth century
in itself encouraged migration. In terms of state-church policy, there was
a limited response, apart from the establishment of a few professorial
chairs in natural sciences in the eighteenth century, and occasional
attempts at reform.

The close interconnection of crown and church, less rigid under the
last two Stuarts and William of Orange, did not fundamentally permit
any other policy towards the country’s universities. Unorthodoxy could
still be treated as high treason and instruction in ‘religion and morality’
was given such prominence that, in the churches, congregations would
hear only positive statements about crown and church. There were many
‘enlightened’ thinkers, but no enlightened monarchs. Consequently,
there were no parallels in England to the attempts being made on the
Continent to carry out reform under the aegis of enlightened despotism.
Given limited career opportunities for their graduates, universities had
degenerated into a kind of ‘priests’ seminar’, and in the eighteenth cen-
tury, while they continued to attend to important educational functions,
they were isolated from the intellectual life of leading figures in the
country.

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In spite of union within the United Kingdom, Scotland remained set,
as far as the organization of its educational system was concerned, on
its own well-charted course. Since the late medieval church had faced
difficulties there, and the Anglo-French war had made it hard for clerics
to pursue traditional studies in France, the Scottish church of the period
was eager to set up its own educational establishments. In the fifteenth
century, therefore, new foundations followed the aim of instructing
future canons and offered the relevant subjects of study, including both
types of law. Even then, however, until the eighteenth century, study in
Scotland was often followed by studies in France and Italy, with Leiden
becoming the favoured university town of the Scots during the eight-
eenth century.

The close alignment to church ideas and practice of university studies,
which were not particularly flourishing, changed both during and after
the Reformation. In accordance with the ideas outlined by John Knox
in his First Book of Discipline, as many citizens as possible were to have
a basic education, which would be more intensive for the ‘servants in
State and Church’. Knox wrote: ‘all [parents] must be compelled to bring
up their children in learning and virtue’. As Calvinists they had to learn
why and for what purpose they held their faith. Only then could ‘the
commonwealth [have] some comfort by them’.** The public authorities,
which usually meant the town council, the church elders and the respect-
ive college council, were especially called upon to guarantee and to be
co-responsible for this. On the foundation of the University of Edin-
burgh, the Scottish parliament sanctioned statutes and laws for the insti-
tution, as did town council and new kirk. To this extent, sacred and
secular powers were working together to establish and maintain a satis-
factory system of higher studies.

The universities, like those in England, were divided into colleges, each
with its own responsibility to the municipal councillors. The students
were continuously instructed by a regent in all disciplines that were con-
sidered important, and were generally supervised by him. The organiz-
ation of studies was clearly structured, following the pattern observed
on the continent by the great reformer of the Scottish colleges, Andrew
Melville. Schools, based on age-groups and sitting regular examinations,
took care of discipline and progressive learning, or at least were intended
to do so.” Intention was realized more in Scotland than in England,
even if general practice still failed to satisfy the theoretical demands of
the church. There was, in fact, only a relative advantage over England.

74 R. O'Day, Education and Society 1500-1800. The Social Foundations of Education in
Early Modern Britain (London/New York, 1982), 223-5.

2° D. B. Horn, A Short History of the University of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, 1967); J. D.
Mackie, The University of Glasgow 1451-1951 (Glasgow, 1954).

138

Relations with authority

In Scotland, too, the education of large sections of the population during
the early modern age left much to be desired. Nevertheless, the Scottish
colleges appeared more open, and were thought to meet needs in the
entire country.

Non-Scottish students were not, incidentally, subject to any religious
or political examination, it being sufficient to sign the Westminster Con-
fession. Only Catholics remained excluded from inscription; on that,
there was agreement between state and church. Melville had also tried
after 1574 to introduce to the regents, the actual teachers, the principle
of division of studies, but such division did not apparently last very long.
Until the eighteenth century, the regent system, resting on the ‘overall
competence’ of the respective ‘professor’, was maintained.

This system itself derived from the church, which at the same time
cooperated with the municipal council and even left to it the task of
superintendence. The pattern corresponded roughly to that on the Conti-
nent in places where semi-universities or academies had been established.
There were no faculties, therefore, and all the professorial chairs, taken
together, constituted a collegium. Many subjects such as jurisprudence
and medicine were not represented at all, or were discontinued or only
occasionally included in the programme after the Reformation. The
main emphasis in education was on moral instruction, particularly in
the disciplines of the arts. The aim was not ‘abstract erudition’, but
moral and practical education, directed towards promoting the welfare
of the community. As a result, the ‘practical affairs of daily life’ could
be sufficiently mastered.

It can easily be observed from the direct interconnection of all secular
and religious questions that such aims and results were not solely a
secular matter. The Scottish institutions suffered continuously, in conse-
quence, during the seventeenth century from the conflicts between Epis-
copalians and Presbyterians. As they were thought of as open to the
general population and were not attended only by the upper classes, such
dissonances had far-reaching effects. Student levels of achievement — as
in other European countries at that time — declined, and the universities
almost came to a standstill.

Reconstruction in the eighteenth century had as its aim the educating
of priests and teachers in a more elegant manner, with a greater dispo-
sition towards consensus. Studies were also to be made attractive again
to young men of standing. The institutions were duly opened up, if
gradually, to a new spirit by teaching in the mother tongue, the removal
of the regent system, the introduction of hitherto unknown legal subjects
such as public law as well as the jus civile in the first two decades of
the century, and the introduction of medical teaching — strongly advo-
cated by the town councils. Nonconformists of all kinds, Enlightenment

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thinkers, but particularly moral philosophers, came together and led the
Scottish universities through a time of great expansion and success.

Edinburgh took over from Leiden in the eighteenth century as a place
of progressive, enlightened studies, and was sought out by many for-
eigners, and Glasgow also enjoyed a high reputation. In contrast to the
narrow, somewhat provincial institutions of Oxbridge, the Scottish uni-
versities offered attractive opportunities beyond the college walls. The
internationally minded places of business and manufacture communi-
cated experience and knowledge, and made contacts possible, sharpen-
ing the contrast with the English universities.”°

UNIVERSITIES IN THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE

Since the foundation of Prague, the first foundation, the German univer-
sities owed their inauguration to princely — and very occasionally to
municipal — endowments. At the end of the late Middle Ages there were
already fourteen universities, an indication of the special political devel-
opment of the Holy Roman Empire, as this conglomeration was called
from the late fifteenth century onwards.

At the same time, the affairs of the late medieval church played an
important role in university development, with the schisms, councils and
the ‘Avignon imprisonment’ of the papacy exercising a formative influ-
ence on the Empire, which continued to be closely affiliated to the
papacy as far as its self-image was concerned. In practice, the weakness
of the Empire led increasingly during the fifteenth century to territorial
sovereigns concluding concordats with the Holy See within the Empire,
with each of them — including the Emperor himself — pursuing as sover-
eigns an independent church policy.

What was happening corresponded to the general situation in the
Empire, in which the move towards the early modern state was being
accomplished on a territorial basis. The more powerful territorial sover-
eigns, above all the electors, felt that — in the interests of increased repu-
tation and peer status — they had to have their own ‘regional university’.
In this, they were soon followed by the other sovereigns. Significantly
enough, it was irrelevant whether the territories had clerical or secular
government. The sovereigns everywhere issued university laws, effected
papal or imperial privileges for studies, and regulated the financing.*’

26 J. Kerr, Scottish Education: School and University (Cambridge, 1910).

27 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts; P. Moraw, ‘Aspekte und Dimensionen
alterer deutscher Universitatsgeschichte’, in P. Moraw and V. Press (eds.), Academia
Gissensis. Beitrige zur dlteren Giessener Universitatsgeschichte (Marburg, 1982), 1-
44; N. Hammerstein, ‘Zur Geschichte und Bedeutung der Universitaten im Heiligen
Roémischen Reich Deutscher Nation’, Historische Zeitschrift, 241 (1985), 287-328.

E4o

Relations with authority

It was, therefore, the courts, the princes and — perhaps the chief
moving force — their learned councillors, who brought the new culture
of humanism into the universities. That the emergence of Martin
Luther — again under the particular patronage of his sovereign — had
far-reaching consequences has already been mentioned. As the Reformer
linked his teachings with particular territories within the Empire, he
decisively supported the tendency, already present, towards the develop-
ment of principalities. The great esteem accorded, after initial doubts,
to university education, together with Luther’s clear exhortation to the
princes and magistrates to establish schools and colleges, to equip and
supervise them, guaranteed the secular leaders long-term jurisdiction
over educational matters. At first, this affected only those territories
inclined to the Reformation, but the Catholic territories soon followed
this practice.

The methods and aims formulated by Philip Melanchthon and John
Sturm, as well as the Paris/Bologna model — already identified and devel-
oped in individual statutes — with its four faculties, its rectorial consti-
tution, etc., were and remained the norm for all institutions of the
Empire. This was also true for the Catholic, and even for a small number
of Calvinist, universities.

While there were, of course, enormous differences in the articles of
faith, the responsibility of the sovereigns for post-Reformation human-
istic studies applied everywhere. In the Catholic Empire, the princes and
councillors were as much the driving force, regulating and prescribing,
as they were in the Protestant Empire. Often faced with the opposition
of the already existing universities and their professors, they often used
the Jesuit Order in the interests of the Counter-Reformation stabilization
of their country. The process began in Bavaria and the Habsburg
regions, and quickly spread to the other Catholic territories, where the
Order gained almost full control of teaching in the theological and arts
faculties; and while it was not unusual, nevertheless, for an isolated theo-
logical department to survive independently of the Jesuits, in places
where the sovereign did not surrender himself completely to their
demands, such exceptions were not of very great significance.

It was of greater significance that, in the Empire, the law faculties —
and the medical faculties —- could operate independently of church influ-
ence, thereby enjoying the protection of the lords or magistrates. The
strong interest of the territories in preparing legally trained servants,
coupled with the fact that the Jesuits had no teaching ambitions concern-
ing these subjects, and the close connection between most of these facul-
ties and territorial needs — through courts of appeal, tribunals and
assizes — guaranteed them influence and great prestige, as well as a secu-
lar alignment. There were obvious benefits for the political leaders in

I41

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town and province, but there were benefits for the universities also which
became practical, active, lively and influential. This was more the case
in the Protestant than in the Catholic Empire, but even in the latter the
law faculties enjoyed relative independence.*®

Only in places where there were Jesuit schools of higher learning with
no more than two faculties, the theological and the arts, was there a
lack of such participation on the part of the university itself, a partici-
pation which would support state jurisdiction. There could be a different
influence, however, an influence of the theological faculty on sovereign
(church) policy. This was frequent in the late sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, even in Protestant territories.

The basic principle was little altered by the fact that in the wake of
the Enlightenment the esteem accorded in the eighteenth century to theo-
logical education and faculties decreased as compared with that in law
and cameralism. The universities remained valued instruments of pro-
gressive policies designed by the sovereign for the general good, at least
in those places — and there were many of them — where they were able
to do justice to these tasks. In accordance first with the Halle model and
then with that of Géttingen — a ‘daughter of Halle’ - many universities
were reformed, enlightened and opened up to practical and useful sci-
ences. State influence on the universities thus increased, as it did in the
Catholic Empire, where — with the support of reformist princes of the
church — the domination of the princes in all secular affairs was to be
instigated, decreed and consolidated. There, also, and particularly in the
case of the Habsburg universities, G6ttingen provided the prototype,
after Mainz, Wiirzburg and Ingolstadt had already emulated this model.
Under Maria Theresia, Gerard van Swieten, for example, was able to
reform the University of Vienna according to enlightened despotic prin-
ciples. Prominent secular and clerical figures assisted him in this, while
others unsuccessfully sought to hinder him.

The process, once it had begun, could be repeatedly delayed, but it
could no longer be halted. That Joseph II overdid efforts in this area —
demanding a purely utilitarian ‘national education’ — did not change the
fact that all the Habsburg universities followed the Vienna model more
or less willingly and successfully. This was true of Innsbruck, of Freiburg
im Breisgau, of Olomouc and even of Jesuit Graz and Prague. The
attempt to found a university in Lemberg (Lwéw) followed the same
spirit, but the attempt was unsuccessful.”’

28 N. Hammerstein, Jus und Historie. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des historischen Denkens
an deutschen Universitaten im spdten 17. und im 18. Jahrhunderts (Gottingen, 1972).
29 N. Hammerstein, ‘Besonderheiten der 6sterreichischen Universitats und Wissenschafts-
reform zur Zeit Maria Theresias und Josephs II’, in R. G. Plaschka and G. Klingenstein

L42

Relations with authority

The high proportion of learned councillors associated with the prin-
cely authorities and with the sovereign or municipal councils also
guaranteed maintenance, support and care for the institutions to which
early debts were owed for the launching, through education, of careers.
Former students at the many, often very small, courts and in the free
cities remained bound to their schools and professors. They saw them-
selves as a kind of respublica litteraria.*©

The comparatively high importance which the universities attached to
intellectual enquiry and scientific discussion throughout almost the
whole of the early modern period made them very attractive to secular
and clerical powers. They often represented a prince’s pride and joy,
and consequently the actual initiatives relating to them often stemmed
from the courts. Reforms had the backing of the sovereign and his auth-
orities. A lack of interest on their part could be disadvantageous for a
college, as was the case after 1700 at Heidelberg, Freiburg and
Wittenberg.

CONFEDERATE UNIVERSITIES

Similar conditions existed — at least in the sixteenth and early seven-
teenth centuries — at the successful university in Basle. As an ecclesiasti-
cal-papal foundation placed in a geographically favourable position, it
had been able, through that position and even more through humanism,
to achieve a brilliant reputation, which it did not lose after the Refor-
mation. Under the command of the quasi-autonomous town council
since 1532, the council — in its own self-interest — saw to it that the
inherited freedom of the university was retained and that statutes that
were decreed were not under confessional auspices. The situation did not
change until the seventeenth century, when Basle and other confederate
universities were placed under the narrow-minded guardianship of
strictly pious municipal government. Regional importance was main-
tained, but national importance was lost.*?

The Zwinglian and Calvinist university pattern provided to a great
extent the model for other countries, that of ‘semi-universities’, undiv-
ided into faculties, and linking between chairs through subjects, without
privileges being conferred by either emperor or pope. These institutions

(eds.), Osterreich im Europa der Aufklarung. Kontinuitat und Zdsur in Europa zur Zeit
Maria Theresias und Josephs II., vol. 1 (Vienna, 1985), 787-812.

3° N. Hammerstein, ‘Res Publica Litteraria — oder Asinus in Aula? Anmerkungen zur “‘biir-
gerlichen Kultur” und zur “‘Adelswelt’’’, Res Publica Guelpherbytana — Cloe, Beihefte
zum Daphnis, 6 (1987), 35-68.

3! E, Bonjour, Die Universitat Basel von den Anfangen bis zur Gegenwart 1460-1960
(Basle, 1960).

143

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were more strictly organized than their Lutheran and even Jesuit
counterparts. Detailed rules laid down by the authorities and the church
elders, as in Zurich (1525), Lausanne (1537), Berne (1528) or Geneva
(1559), regulated their life in accordance with church guidelines, while
also permitting the retention of comparatively open, humanistic-literary
pursuits.** Apart from Geneva, the severe religious penetration of all
aspects of life — including those touching the universities in general —
was less rigid and comprehensive. With the approaching Enlightenment,
the important role of these schools — particularly within the European
context — rapidly declined. During the eighteenth century, they contrac-
ted to a kind of ‘priests’ seminar’, even if they played a great part in
political-historical education and in strengthening the intellectual ident-
ity of the confederacy.

UNIVERSITIES IN THE LOW COUNTRIES

The situation was completely different in the Northern Netherlands.
With the establishment of Leiden (1575), Utrecht (1632) and Groningen
(1612), full universities of national importance had emerged. It is true
that they were not privileged, but they offered the usual range of
faculties and disciplines within a customary institutional framework,
and they were soon awarding accepted degrees in their own right. The
auguries were good, for they had generally respected professors, like the
late humanistic, scholarly statesman Janus Dousa, an extremely pro-
ductive scholar, and despite severe church discipline, they revealed a
tolerant attitude to scholars who appeared useful to the small but
wealthy republic, itself engaged in a struggle for survival. There was a
strong ‘internationalism’ also in these Calvinist schools, forced upon
them by their minority position. Partially in conflict with the local auth-
orities, but mostly in personal harmony with the estates and with the
town councillors — a harmony established via ministers — they were soon
internationally respected and visited. The skilled policies of the minis-
ters — with an emphasis upon achievement — and the intellectual contri-
bution on the part of the university frequently made it possible for the
universities to dedicate themselves, in relatively free internal discussion,
to the sciences.

It is well known that, with the independence of the Netherlands and
the spread of the Enlightenment, there was still more freedom of
expression for scholars and for further educational establishments of

*2 U. Im Hof, ‘Die Entstehung der reformierten Hohen Schule. Bern/Ziirich/Lausanne/
Geneva’, in P. Baumgart and N. Hammerstein (eds.), Beitrage zu Problemen deutscher
Universitatsgriindungen der friihen Neuzeit, Wolfenbiitteler Forschungen 4 (Nendeln/
Liechtenstein, 1978), 243-62.

144

Relations with authority

many kinds. As more and more town councillors or representatives of
the estates cultivated other interests, and thought as tradesmen rather
than as scholars, the universities secured an additional area of freedom.
Although they were, strictly speaking, controlled by the church, their
controllers were individuals who attached more importance to secular
interests, to their own survival and to that of the general estates, than
to church censorship.*? The Netherlands universities thus remained com-
paratively open and did not primarily serve church interests. The church
did not positively like the idea of sending its students to these insti-
tutions, but there were no other alternatives. In their own way, they
sought to correct that. They carried out their own examination of future
ministers before employing them as office-bearers.

Louvain, located in the southern part of the Netherlands, and Cath-
olic, was — like its northern counterparts — an exception. A ducal Braban-
tine foundation, papally privileged, the university became in the six-
teenth century — owing to its associated Collegium Trilingue and its
Erasmian-humanistic orientation — a favoured place of Erasmian learn-
ing and scholarship. The generous bequest of Cardinal Busleyden
attracted many foreign students.** The civic authorities, together with
the university, were responsible for immediate supervision and statutory
regulation.

After the appearance of Luther, Charles V —- like Philip II at a later
date — bequeathed royal professorial chairs which were to serve Counter-
Reformational aims. As Louvain in the sixteenth century, and also in
the subsequent period, was on several occasions directly affected by war,
the attractiveness of the university faded. Strict orthodoxy continued to
be prescribed, a tendency further strengthened by the reforms of Arch-
duke Albrecht in 1607. State and church, in conjunction with the city,
sought to keep the university on the right course. The actual decision-
makers, particularly during the frequent inspections of the university,
were in fact the secular authorities. It is also worthy of note that, despite
the adjacent heretical neighbourhood, the university — though remaining
dogmatically Catholic — never became Jesuit. In fact, both clerical and
secular authorities did everything to avert Jesuit claims. They success-
fully cultivated a form of Catholicism and scholarship indebted to their
own tradition. Like the Benedictines in Salzburg — founded in 1622 —-
they did not promote controversial theological teachings, but remained
more closely tied than the Jesuits to their disciplines and to late

33 T. H. Lunsingh Scheurleer and G. H. M. Posthumus Meyjes (eds.), Leiden University
in the Seventeenth Century. An Exchange of Learning (Leiden, 1975); Frijhoff, Gradués.

** H. De Vocht, History of the Foundation and the Rise of the Collegium Trilingue Lovani-
ense 1517-1570, 4 vols. (Louvain, 1951-5).

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humanistic methods. This made them more flexible than the universities
governed by the Society of Jesus.

Louvain was for a long time considered the centre of Jansenism, as
a champion of Catholic-heretical dogma.*’? However, as the true faith
continued to be disputed among the different orders and clerical teach-
ers, the university was able — with the help of the town council and
the Brabantine assembly of estates, and even in part with that of the
archbishop — successfully to defend its status and privileges, even at a
time when its national importance and its attractiveness as a centre of
learning already belonged to the past.

Douai, in the Spanish Netherlands, was on the other hand much more
influenced by the Counter-Reformation, and the Jesuits were thus able
to gain influence there. They did this in agreement with and supported
by Philip II. But the king organized the members of the Order as well
as the university in accordance with his re-Catholicization policies. The
university, though led by Jesuits, was actually a state, or rather a royal,
institution, until the city fell to France in 1667.

POLISH UNIVERSITIES

The Polish universities — Cracow in particular — were ‘national’ insti-
tutions, established and supported in the interests of church and crown.
After the Reformation, they were rapidly employed to serve the aims of
the Counter-Reformation. This was very clearly the case with Vilnius,
founded by the Society of Jesus in 1579. The universities also had diffi-
culties in that the unstable internal political situation between crown
and estates did not offer any reliable protection by the state. On the
other hand, the traditionally privileged University of Cracow resisted
becoming a part of the Jesuit educational cosmos, thus losing its inde-
pendence. Long-term disputes about this and other questions required
from the university a delicate balance between crown, Seym, the national
authorities and the church. The consequence was that clear responsibilit-
ies were seldom present, and the establishment of a firm leadership even
less so. Neither the state nor the church dominated the university, which
explains the gradual decline of what had been a brilliant institution.
There was no determining national force in Poland that could have decis-
ively led the university and the remaining schools of higher learning.*®

An increasing lack of interest on the part of the national authorities
in the universities as well as in the education of priests under the direc-
tion of the church hastened this development in the eighteenth century.
Only after the dissolution of the Jesuit Order was it necessary to consider

3° E, Lamberts and J. Roegiers (eds.), Leuven University 1425-1985 (Louvain, 1990).

36 L. Hajdukiewicz and M. Kara, L’Université Jagellone. La tradition, le présent, l’avenir
(Cracow, 1975).

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Relations with authority

a reorganization of the educational system. Thanks to royal initiatives,
a general educational plan with reformist intentions was attempted and
partly realized. This attempt at a national, enlightened-practical, scien-
tific and university model was terminated, however, by the division of
the country soon afterwards.

UNIVERSITIES INTHE NORTHERN EUROPEAN COUNTRIES

The northern European universities such as Copenhagen, Uppsala, Lund
and Abo followed, after the Reformation, the German-Lutheran model.
Copenhagen successfully followed on from Wittenberg, and the later
Swedish foundations also adopted German models. In contrast to
Denmark, where Copenhagen was from an early period the national
university, protected by the crown and serving its political interests,*”
the five Swedish universities, consciously promoted and developed only
under and after Gustav II Adolph, followed no uniform course of devel-
opment. It is true that they were intended to serve sovereign require-
ments and to train orthodox servants and devout priests of state. But
they had different aims depending on geographical and temporal circum-
stances. Uppsala, the most ancient institution, which was almost forgot-
ten in the Reformation, ran into Ramistic channels in the late sixteenth
century. Gustav II Adolph changed the situation both through his
absolutist tendencies and through his strict Lutheranism. Attracted to
corresponding German models, many professors — and many German
students — came from the Empire. To this extent, a relatively close con-
tact was maintained with northern German, Lutheran notions of teach-
ing and of the sciences.

Dorpat (1630) was also organized according to Swedish absolutist
interests, while Abo at that time adhered to a strict Aristotelianism and
in addition aimed at aristocratic students. Here, a tendency opposed to
German ideas and inclinations in their own territories could seem
expedient. Dorpat, and then Lund (1668), were also to serve and support
a ‘Swedish policy’, submitted by the royal party. To this extent they can
both be regarded as political foundations supporting Swedish claims to
hegemony.*®

That cannot be said equally of the more ancient Greifswald, a Swedish
school of higher learning from 1637 until the end of the Holy Roman
Empire. Here, pastors and lawyers were trained for service on both

37 §. Ellehoj and L. Grane (eds.), Kobenhavns Universitet 1479-1979, vols. V—xIII
(Copenhagen, 1979-91).

38S. Lindroth, A History of Uppsala University 1477-1977 (Uppsala, 1976); G. Johanns-
son, Lunds universitets historia, 2 vols. (Lund, 1982); Klinge, Kuningliga Akademien,
vol. 1; G. V. Pistohlkors, T. U. Raun and P. Kaegbein (eds.), Die Universitaten Dorpat/
Tartu, Riga und Wilna/Vilnius 1579-1979 (Cologne, 1987).

147

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shores of the Baltic Sea. Greifswald had a character very much of its
own. Familiar with jurisprudence in the Empire, but without giving
instruction on this, a law school was developing which was important
for the Baltic region in general, a school which, together with Uppsala
and Lund as well as with its theological faculty, effected a connection
between German conceptions and those of the Nordic states. The pre-
cedence of state, or rather noble, interests was, however, no different
here than in all the other Scandinavian universities. The church was and
remained a part of sovereign rule.

ITALIAN UNIVERSITIES

Many Italian universities had their part to play in the developments
inspired by the (High) Renaissance and by humanism. Although not
actually intellectually dominant against the background of the rise of
the Italian states — the number of Apennine universities corresponded to
the number of such ‘states’ — the arts faculties were particularly stimu-
lated, as were those of medicine. The traditionally strong, numerically
leading faculty of jurisprudence kept firm hold of this position in the
sixteenth century. The increased number of posts in public service
opened up good career opportunities, and promoted in turn the law
faculties, which, in accordance with what were mainly city-state guide-
lines, maintained a strongly practical emphasis. Such studies remained
attractive also for non-Italian law students. Degrees obtained at Italian
universities still guaranteed good, even excellent, careers in the
homeland.*’

Theology, which was never as important in Italian universities, con-
tinued to play an insignificant role. At many universities, it was not even
offered. In accordance with the worldly disposition of Italian politics,
following the urgent necessities of urban life, the secular authorities con-
centrated on instruction in practical subjects related to the community
in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. The high proportion of
foreign students — and also, in part, of professors — at the leading univer-
sities, Sometimes representing half of all matriculations, decisively sup-
ported this pragmatic, practically oriented attitude, and this explains the
great interest shown by the public authorities. Improved manners and
reformed, that is to say more clearly organized and shortened, studies
were recommended to them by the authorities, so that they could satisfy
the needs of (European) states; and after the arrival of the French, the

°°? R. L. Kagan, ‘Le universita in Italia 1500-1700’, Societa e storia, 7 (1985), 275-3173
English version: ‘Universities in Italy 1500-1700’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 153-
86; L. Simeoni, Storia dell’Universita di Bologna, vol. u: L’eta moderna (1500-1888)
(Bologna, 1940); A. Favaro, L’Universita di Padova (Venice, 1922).

148

Relations with authority

increasing ‘courtliness’ of the city-states led the new rulers in Milan,
Florence, Venice and in the Papal States to insist on studies being practi-
cally oriented. This was true also of Naples, which — as a royal foun-
dation — had been state-controlled from the beginning. The universities,
however, did not have to lead or to form public intellectual discussion
in these states. That mostly went on elsewhere, and could be connected —
though this was not necessary — with university members.

In the wake of the Counter-Reformation, such relatively open con-
ditions in Italy changed. The late papal bull In sacrosancta promulgated
by Pius IV in 1564 sought to satisfy the desire of Canisius and Possevin
to prevent the ‘irresponsible graduations’ of foreign Protestants at Italian
universities. Admittedly, this policy was not uniformly followed. In
Venice, for example, the doge subjected the students to his own tribunal
in 1587, thus freeing them from persecution by the Inquisition. In 1616
the Venetian Council also set up its own examining board, which in its
own way overcame the papal decree. To this extent, the oath to ortho-
doxy in Padua could for a long time be avoided. Nowhere else in Europe
was it so generously handled as here; even Jewish students could find
admission and education.”°

But freedom of movement for non-Catholics was also possible at other
Italian universities. In Bologna, the natio germanica enjoyed new and
additional privileges, which resulted in the second half of the sixteenth
century in an increase of students from Protestant, and in particular
German, territories. In Tuscany, the situation was similar in Siena, for
here, too, there was a continuation of the influx of non-Catholic students
during the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Graduation
was in no sense linked to matriculation, and matriculations continued
to be allowed in spite of the papal bull. If, on the other hand, the free-
dom of movement of Italian students from the middle of the sixteenth
century was increasingly limited — graduates of a native university were
given preference in appointments — that did not follow confessional tra-
ditions. The national institutions were to be kept viable and to be pro-
moted, especially in places where the proportion of foreigners was
traditionally low. That such decrees brought about a distinct provin-
cialization of the universities in the seventeenth century is easy to under-
stand, as well as the fact that, in consequence, attendance by non-lItalians
fell.

The interest of state authorities in the universities and their studies
generally declined in the seventeenth century. The job market had con-
tracted, and the partly competing, partly integrated Jesuit studies, as well
as the preponderance of law studies at many universities, made them

4° See chapter 10, pp. 426, 430.

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less interesting. The poor remuneration of professors reflected this lack
of interest, and additionally aggravated the situation.

The professors often had no other choice but to take on a second
profession in order to survive. Competing with each other, in order to
earn money, they offered private lectures, so that a second university
began to emerge next to the original one. In addition, while the Orders,
as well as the colleges, gained more students from the sixteenth century
onwards, the universities decayed more and more. During the seven-
teenth century, many venerable institutions became professional schools,
where orthodoxy was now more important than originality.

The better-situated had access to newly established aristocratic aca-
demies, and the intellectually motivated to court academies — as in, for
example, Bologna, Florence, Naples and Parma. Meanwhile, specialists
moved to their own new professional schools, such as the School of
Natural Science in Verona (1669). When, in consequence, the state auth-
orities sought to satisfy the need for specialists, the universities them-
selves increasingly fell under church authority.

Attempts were made —- without any real success — to realign studies
more to the needs of the state and secular interests. In the Austrian-
controlled territories, Maria Theresia, for example, attempted a univer-
sity revival from 1753, running concurrently with Habsburg reforms. In
the Papal States, Clement XIV, in particular, sought to achieve pre-
cedence for the universities over the state authorities. All these attempts
were unsuccessful, even though many good scholars were working at
individual universities in the eighteenth century, some of them seeking
to identify with northern European models. The lack of state support
and the poor financial situation made this difficult.

In the light of evidence from different parts of Europe, it is possible to
establish a number of general points.

With the development of early modern society and impulses towards
more state control, greater territorial consideration and increasing
reliance on written procedures, the importance of the universities — from
the late fifteenth century onwards — was enhanced. Princes, magistrates,
-churches, all those exercising authority, developed a direct interest in
‘their’ universities. The financing of studies was increasingly considered
a matter for the community. The more ancient, privileged self-
government of the universities, reflected in freedom of movement in face
of state and church authority, declined without, however, totally disap-
pearing. On account of the continuing loose centralization and state
penetration of everyday life, universities continued to enjoy greater pos-
sibilities of autonomous development than would be the case in the nine-
teenth century.

I50

Relations with authority

The loss of religious unity made it desirable in the old as well as in
the new church for the latter to exert direct influence on the universities.
It set out to achieve this by means of censorship, inquisitorial procedures
and many other ‘spiritual’ methods. In the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, when politics and religion were interconnected, such direct
influence was not incongruent with the intentions of the secular powers
of politics and religion at that time. The developing state required a
greater inner stability, which rested on the assistance of the church as
well on as the service of its universities. All three were devoted to the
same aim -— the retention of orthodoxy and the improvement of com-
munity life. Only where the sense of state interest was comparatively
weak was the church able to gain a stronger position and to treat schools
of higher learning, particularly in Catholic countries, as ecclesiastical
institutions. It is true that church influence during the sixteenth and sev-
enteenth centuries was often reduced, depending on the extent to which
those in authority in the church had close, often kindred, links with the
prince or with the nobility.

In all European countries during the early modern period there
existed, to a greater or lesser degree, a sort of territorial church sover-
eignty, whether ecclesiastically or secularly determined. That was as evi-
dent in countries with a new church as it was in countries with the old.
For this reason, state interests and the claims of the church often came
into conflict, with resultant tension and friction, with the conflict gener-
ally having less to do with educational ends — the service of the religious
state — than with means or with personal influence.

With the further development of the modern monarchical state forms,
it became clear, however, that the claims of the church would only be
as successful as the state permitted. After all, the princes had a decided
and distinctive interest in their own universities, the boundaries of which
they set out in statutes and in curricula, and the well-being of which
they determined. It was they who gave them the task which could lead
them towards greatness; it was they who both supported and promoted
them. If the universities declined, it was through their lack of interest
or neglect, and in such circumstances ecclesiastical supervision could
sometimes, but not always, be restored.

In general, it can be concluded that renewal through reform and
vitality thereafter had always to be guaranteed by the sovereign. Indeed,
this was a prerequisite even where the universities took the initiative
themselves. The interest of the prince in an institution guaranteed that
the ideas of the professors or the university could reach him or his coun-
cillors, and influence his or their attitudes.

Yet the strong position of non-university authorities did not necessar-
ily mean that the traditional and privileged freedom of the universities

Notker Hammerstein

and their members would be severely limited or decisively reduced. In
the early modern age, a spread of horizontally structured responsibilities
and the assertion of apparently contradictory claims by competing auth-
orities were neither strange nor impracticable. Such apparent contradic-
tions existed in many spheres of life. Consequently, it disturbed claims
to jurisdiction on the part of neither the state nor the church that the
universities often possessed remarkably extensive liberties.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ajo Gonzalez de Rapariegos y Sainz de Zifiiga, C. M. Historia de las universid-
ades hispanicas. Origenes y desarrollo desde su aparicién a nuestros dias, 11
vols., Madrid, 1957-77.

Blettermann, P. A. Die Universitatspolitik August des Starken 1694-1733, Mit-
teldeutsche Forschungen, 102, Cologne/Vienna, 1990.

Brandao, M. and De Almeida, M. L. A Universidade de Coimbra. Esboco da
sua histéria, Coimbra, 1937.

Brockliss, L. W. B. French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
Centuries. A Cultural History, Oxford, 1987.

Chartier, R., Compére, M.-M. and Julia, D. L’Education en France du XVle au
XVIIIe siécle, Paris, 1976.

Claeys-Bouuaert, F. L’Ancienne Université de Louvain. Etudes et documents,
Louvain, 1956.

Coing, H. (ed.) Handbuch der Quellen und Literatur der neueren europdischen
Privatrechtsgeschichte, vol. 1, Munich, 1977, 3-102.

Curtis, S. J. History of Education in Great Britain, 2nd edn, London, 1950.

Ellehoj, E. and Grane, L. (eds.) Kobenhauns Universitet 1479-1979, vols. I-XIV,
Copenhagen, 1979-91.

Frijhoff, W. La Société néerlandaise et ses gradués, 1575-1814. Une recherche
sérielle sur le statut des intellectuels a partir des registres universitaires,
Amsterdam/Maarssen, 1981.

Hajdukiewicz, L. and Kara, M. L’Université Jagellone. La tradition, le présent,
l'avenir, Cracow, 1975.

Johannsson, G. Lunds universitets historia, 2 vols., Lund, 1982.

Kagan, R. L. Students and Society in Early Modern Spain, Baltimore, Md./
London, 1974.

Klinge, M., Leikola, A., Knapas, R. and Stromberg, J. Kuningliga Akademien 1
Abo 1640-1808, Helsingfors Universitet, 1640-1990, vol. 1, Helsinki, 1988.

Lindroth, S. A History of Uppsala University 1477-1977, Uppsala, 1976.

Lunsingh Scheurleer, T. H. and Posthumus Meyjes, G. H. M. (eds.) Leiden Uni-
versity in the Seventeenth Century. An Exchange of Learning, Leiden, 1975.

Mackie, J. D. The University of Glasgow 1451-1951, Glasgow, 1954.

1§2

Relations with authority

McClelland, C. E. State, Society and University in Germany 1700-1914, Cam-
bridge, 1980.

McConica, J. (ed.) The History of the University of Oxford, vol. m1: The Collegi-
ate University, Oxford, 1986.

O’Day, R. Education and Society 1500-1800. The Social Foundations of Edu-
cation in Early Modern Britain, London/New York, 1982.

Scheel, O. (ed.) Das akademische Deutschland, vol. 1, Berlin, 1930.

Stichweh, R. Der moderne Staat und die europdische Universitat. Zur Interak-
tion von Politik und Erziehungssystem im Prozess ihrer Ausdifferenzierung
(16.-18. Jahrhundert), Frankfurt-on-Main, 1991.

Sutherland, L. and Mitchell, L. E. (eds.) The History of the University of
Oxford, vol. v: The Eighteenth Century, Oxford, 1986.

Verger, J. (ed.) Histoire des universités en France, Toulouse, 1986.

CHAPTER 4

MANAGEMENT AND
RESOURCES

HILDE DE RIDDER-SYMOENS

It is remarkable that so little serious research has been undertaken into
the structure and organization of the university institutions of early
modern times, as if they were of little relevance or interest. It is true
that there were no fundamental changes in university structure or organ-
ization after the Middle Ages and that the changes that did take place
during the medieval period are sufficiently well known, but it should
not be forgotten that the uniformity of European universities was subject
to pressure from the early sixteenth century onwards and that the state
or some other political entity gradually grafted new institutions onto the
medieval prototypes when it did not radically reshape them.’ The
absence of in-depth comparative studies on management and finance in
early modern Europe means that the rather disparate literature available
on this subject affords but a mere impression of the real state of affairs.

The fact is that, at first sight, there was no fundamental change in the
basic structure of universities between 1500 and 1800. The two types
of university, the masters’ and the students’, described in chapter 4 of
volume I, continued to exist. Generally speaking, the terminology
remained unchanged and academic rituals and insignia were only slightly
modified over the centuries. Of course, this does not mean that these
institutions were unaffected by the changes in early modern society
described in chapter 3. Quite the contrary: changes in political structures
in northern Italy and in the character of the student body, for example,
brought considerable pressure to bear on the students’ university. First,
the ‘nationalization’, or rather ‘regionalization’ of almost all universities
considerably diminished the significance of the nations from the seven-

* See for a critique of the approach to early modern university history W. Frijhoff, ‘Con-

clusions: vers une autre histoire des colléges universitaires’, in I collegi universitari,
185-96.

154

Management and resources

teenth century onwards. The colleges, too, were given another function
and this implied changes in structure and organization. The universities —
or rather, some universities — tried to find a place for the experiences of
the ‘new learning’ and of the scientific revolution in the existing faculty
structure and in the curriculum. This had a marked effect on infrastruc-
ture: professorial chairs were reallocated, classrooms adapted, anatom-
ical theatres, laboratories, observatories, botanic gardens and libraries
gradually became ‘musts’ for the well-run university. The financial
consequences, too, were significant.

GENERAL UNIVERSITY STRUCTURE

Chapter 2 gives detailed information about the evolution of the medieval
university and the new types that developed from the ‘classical’ model:
(1) the classical four-faculty university (or in exceptional cases the five-
faculty university where civil and canon law each formed a separate
faculty), (2) the professorial university, (3) the collegiate university and
(4) the college-university, each with its variations. In the first, collective
tuition took place in disciplines grouped by faculty; accommodation was
not integrated in the university. The collegiate university was a feder-
ation of colleges with autonomy in matters such as curriculum and hous-
ing (masters and students living together), which decided how the uni-
versity was to be managed. The college-universities, on a smaller scale,
combined a centralized organization and infrastructure with collegiate
education.’

After 1500, the medieval distinction still obtained between the mas-
ters’ university of both teachers and students where the former domi-
nated (with Paris and Oxford as archetypes), the students’ university
with students only — the professors had their own discipline-based cor-
poration, the collegia doctorum — (with Bologna as archetype), and the
mixed masters’—students’ universities (of which Montpellier and Sala-
manca were archetypal).

At the beginning of the sixteenth century most studia generalia in
northern Italy and Montpellier were still agglomerations of coordinate
students’ associations. These could be nations, as in Bologna, Padua,
Siena, or faculties, as in Montpellier.

In post-Reformation times there was a marked increase in the authori-
ties’ influence over the universities, and a tightening of their control over
the students. They marginalized and silenced the students’ organizations
as much as possible.* Representatives of the authorities and the colleges

2 See for the description of the different models chapter 2, pp. 64-70 (Typologies).
> This will be explained later.

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Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

of doctors started functioning as faculty councils. Hence, from the seven-
teenth century onwards, the organization of students’ universities in the
Mediterranean region no longer differed so radically from that in north-
western Europe. The newly founded universities followed the transmon-
tane model in any case, and the universities subordinate to the Spanish
or Austrian authorities were thoroughly reorganized between the six-
teenth and the eighteenth centuries on the professorial four-faculty
model. Pavia was given new, similar statutes by its Spanish authorities
in 1541 and by the Austrians in 1771; Naples was also completely
reformed in 1614-17 by the Spanish viceroy.*

According to normal standards in Europe outside Italy, a complete
university still consisted of four faculties: a lower one (arts) and three
higher ones (theology, law and medicine). There were, however, certain
important exceptions to this rule. Most of the Jesuit universities, for
example, were incomplete, consisting of two faculties only, an arts fac-
ulty and a faculty of theology. If we leave to one side the short-lived
medical school and the Protestant theology school, the medieval Univer-
sity of Orléans (1306) taught law alone and this was also the case in
Rennes (1722) and Dijon (1735).

Most of the traditional institutions taught virtually all the disciplines,
though this did not imply that a faculty functioned continuously for long
periods of time, because often chairs were left vacant. This was often
the case of the medical faculties up to the seventeenth century even
though the influence of the scientific revolution and the progress made
in medical knowledge did increase the prestige of medical studies and
medical doctors. The effect on the status of the faculty of medicine in the
university was undoubted but insufficient to prevent many universities,
including older and by no means unimportant institutions such as the
Universities of Poitiers and Bourges” in France from excluding medicine
from their programme. Nor was the situation in other countries, with
the exception of Italy, much better. In the bigger northern Italian studia
the faculty of medicine continued to be linked to the faculty of arts,
forming a faculty of arts and medicine in which the arts department
was, according to north-western European standards, somewhat restric-
ted and the medical department given pride of place. The more classical
universities of early modern times were dominated in particular by the
faculties of law. These enjoyed a great deal of prestige, partly because
their professors fulfilled important social functions, and partly because,
on the average, their students belonged to the elite of society. The situ-
ation of the theological faculties was more complicated. The dominant
role played in these faculties in the Middle Ages by the mendicant friars
* Statuti e ordinamenti della Universita di Pavia dall’anno 1361 all’anno 1859 (Pavia,

1925), 155ff., zorff.; Storia della Universita di Napoli (Naples, 1924), 255.
> Brockliss, French Higher Education, 15-16; see also chapters 11, 13 and 14.

156

Management and resources

was in early modern times shared by the Jesuits. In the more traditional
universities the faculty of theology was one of four. Certain theological
faculties formed a conglomeration of educational colleges with the fac-
ulty of arts, whereas others constituted a seminary or higher education
institution for clergymen, rather than a real university.

It was the faculty of arts which changed most in structure and function
and it did so in various areas. The separation between the various levels
of education — lower, secondary and higher — characteristic of the six-
teenth century under the influence of humanist pedagogical ideals,
endowed the faculty of arts with a new function. Now that grammar
and other forms of introduction to the ‘liberal arts’ were taught in the
grammar or Latin schools, the faculties of arts could develop into com-
plete faculties of philosophy and letters. At the same time, however, the
appearance of gymmasia illustria and, especially in France, of the so-
called colléges de plein exercice,® blurred the distinction between the
highest classes of this kind of college and the faculty of arts. Indeed, in
the late fifteenth century and in the first half of the sixteenth century,
Paris — with its forty colleges around 1500 — saw many of its residential
colleges transformed into institutions teaching humanities (and sciences).
Their status was somewhere in between secondary education insti-
tutions, grammar schools, and university colleges with an option for
philosophy. In 1789 only thirty-three colleges in France really belonged
to the university (inter alia, ten at Paris).’ The Trilingual Colleges in
Louvain, Alcala and the Collége de France in Paris, all founded in the
first half of the sixteenth century, where Latin, Greek and Hebrew and,
in some cases, other subjects such as mathematics were taught, did not
really form part of the faculty of arts; they existed on the fringe of the
university and they were not always on particularly good terms with the
established corporations.® The result of this development was that, apart
from providing higher level education in philosophy, the principal func-
tion of the faculty of arts was to organize final examinations and award
degrees. The situation was similar in other French university towns,
though on a smaller scale.’

Outside France, it was the universities of the Southern Netherlands in
Louvain and Douai which corresponded most closely to this model.
Strictly speaking, since the middle of the fifteenth century, the faculty

° Cf. chapter 2, pp. 63, 68 and chapter 7, pp. 290-1.

7 R. R. Palmer, The Improvement of Humanity: Education and the French Revolution
(Princeton, N.J., 1985), 14.

§ Pp. S. Allen, ‘The Trilingual Colleges of the Early Sixteenth Century’, in P. S. Allen (ed.),
Erasmus. Lectures and Wayfaring Sketches (Oxford, 1934), 138-63; see further pp.
461, 570.

? Brockliss, French Higher Education, 13, 20; M. M. Compeére, ‘Les colléges de |’Univer-
sité de Paris au XVle siécle: structure institutionnelle et fonctions éducatives’, in I collegi
universitari, 101-18; Chartier, Education en France, 252-6.

T$7

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

of arts in Louvain (1425) had consisted of four pedagogies (or colleges),
Lily, Castle, Falcon and Porc, to which was added from 1500 onwards
the college of Standonck, on the model of the Collége de Montaigu in
Paris. Some public lectures were given at faculty level, otherwise the
faculty organized centralized examinations, using the competitive exam-
ination system. By opening a grammar school (Holy Trinity College) in
1657, the faculty of arts of Louvain made a clearer distinction between
the intellectual level of the students.’°

COLLEGES AND NATIONS

This linking of grammar schools to university colleges started in England
in the fourteenth century and continued into early modern times. Well-
known examples in Oxford are New College with Winchester College,
Magdalen College with Magdalen College School and Wainfleet School
(Lincolnshire), and in Cambridge are King’s College with Eton College
(Buckinghamshire) and St John’s College with Sedbergh School
(Yorkshire).’’ In England there was no mixture of the two school types
(grammar teaching at secondary level and liberal arts teaching at univer-
sity level) as in France. The collegiate system, however, was developed
further and for longer in England than in other countries. Until the end
of the fifteenth century the colleges in Oxford and Cambridge were rela-
tively small institutions with mainly graduate fellows. Most graduates
and undergraduates lived in the halls or with private persons. In the
course of the sixteenth century, students became increasingly concen-
trated in colleges and less in halls. Around 1500, there were only eight
halls left in Oxford, each with an average of 27 students, and thirteen
colleges with an average of 34 people. From the reign of Elizabeth I, the
colleges were given the monopoly of lodging and educating undergrad-
uates and this remained the case until the nineteenth century.'* The result
was that nearly all teaching was done in the colleges. As on the Conti-
nent, the faculties had the privilege of awarding degrees.

Because the educational colleges were intended in particular for arts
students (undergraduates), other facilities were created for the students
of the higher faculties. Of course, the medieval residential colleges with
boarding facilities for the students (hall, bursa, hospitium, etc.) offered
an obvious solution. As has already been said, the number of halls in

1° De Universiteit te Leuven 1425-1985, Fasti Academici, 1 (Leuven, 1986), 61-4.

'! J. McConica, ‘The Rise of the Undergraduate College’, in History of Oxford III, 2-3;
C. I. Hammer Jr., ‘Oxford Town and Oxford University’, in History of Oxford III,
108-10; N. Orme, English Schools in the Middle Ages (London, 1973), 187-8, 198-
9, 207-10, 267, 283.

2 W. A. Pantin, Oxford Life in Oxford Archives (Oxford, 1972), 10, 19; McConica,
‘Rise’ (note 11).

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Management and resources

Oxbridge was severely restricted in favour of the teaching colleges.
Nevertheless, universities, especially in Protestant countries, were unwill-
ing or unable to guarantee lodging facilities for students inside the
traditional college model. Medieval college life was associated with mon-
astic life and with ecclesiastical benefices. Many universities were only
willing to offer material facilities, student hostels, common houses and
free meals, to poor students and in only a few university towns in the
German Empire, such as Altdorf und Helmstedt or Tiibingen and Kassel,
where richer students were housed in comfortable colleges. For the poor
students, disused monasteries were converted into residences or common
rooms (Kommunitdten or communities).'* In Uppsala the ‘community’
was closed in 1637 because of continual rows between the students and
the steward, whom they accused of dishonesty and of supplying poor
food and drink. The sums provided to maintain this hospitium were
transformed into scholarships.'* Similar complaints in the Jena student
house were not followed by the same drastic measures.’* All universities
founded between 1575 and 1648 in the northern Netherlands were
organized in the same way. The universities only had rooms at their
disposal for education, management and research. The few colleges for
(poor) theology students formed an exception.'® And although when it
founded the ‘Tounis College’ in 1583, the town council of Edinburgh
had in mind the model of the medieval Scottish Universities of St And-
rews, Glasgow and Aberdeen, which themselves were modelled on
Oxbridge, the academic authorities did not succeed in making Edin-
burgh a residential university with a collegiate spirit. Students depended
for accommodation on citizens of the town.’”

The medieval college prototype persisted in the Protestant countries
but it was given a different function. The Ritterakademien and related
institutions for noble students founded in the seventeenth century, and
the special schools and technical schools, mostly created in the eight-
eenth century, combined living, learning and socialization in one insti-
tution and in one complex of buildings. The difference was that they
were founded by the secular authorities.’®

SN. Hammerstein, ‘Protestant Colleges in the Holy Roman Empire’, in I collegi universi-
tari, 163-72.

4S. Lindroth, A History of Uppsala University 1477-1977 (Uppsala, 1976), 46.

15M. Steinmetz (ed.), Geschichte der Universitat Jena 1548/5 8-1958. Festgabe zum vier-
hundertjahrigen Universitatsjubilaum, vol. 1 (Jena, 1958), 57, IOI.

© P. Karstkarel and R. Terpstra, ‘Van Jeruzalem tot het Friese Athene: het kruisheren-
klooster en de academiegebouwen te Franeker’, in G. Th. Jensma, F. R. H. Smit and
F. Westra, Universiteit te Franeker 1585-1811 (Leeuwarden, 1985), 212-13.

” R, M. Pinkerton, ‘Of Chambers and Communities: Student Residence at the University
of Edinburgh, 1583-1983’, in G. Donaldson (ed.), Four Centuries of Edinburgh Univer-
sity Life 1583-1983 (Edinburgh, 1983), 116-18.

8 Frijhoff, ‘Conclusions’ (note 1), 186-9; see further chapter 7, pp. 317-22.

1$9

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

Although the above-mentioned type of institutions for noblemen are
also found in Catholic countries, the tendency in the latter was to house
as many students as possible in boarding schools. This was the time of
the ‘grand enfermement’ (Foucault), when young people, who were
easily influenced, were secluded from the ‘wicked’ outside world by
being housed in strict, often religious, boarding schools (Ariés). One
could say that the high walls of the colleges, with their locked and
guarded gates, symbolized the intention of the university to protect the
young people committed to its care and to mould them into responsible
and disciplined citizens. The number of places available and the number
of scholarships were both increased and new, extensive colleges were
founded. In 1625, in addition to the four pedagogies in Louvain, 41
residential colleges were active, and the University of Douai could be
considered a conglomeration of boarding schools. Besides its 25 univer-
sity colleges and seminaries, Douai also had 35 religious houses (19 for
men and 16 for women) which were closely linked to the university. In
the Spanish universities, too, there was a sharp increase in the number
of residential colleges. This change, however, was most striking in Italy.
In the Middle Ages the Italian universities had few college facilities.
Apart from colleges for poor students (e.g. the Sapienza in Rome, Siena,
Perugia) there were institutions housing students who came from the
same region and of these the Spanish college in Bologna was the best
known. Starting in the sixteenth century a network of residential colleges
developed to such an extent that in Padua, for instance, in the second
half of the eighteenth century, fourteen colleges housed one-third of the
entire student population. Some of these new colleges were intended for
poor students. This was the case with the Sapienza in Pisa, founded in
1543 by the Grand Duke Cosimo I, with the proceeds from the illegally
sequestrated assets of Tuscans convicted by the Medici.’? Alongside
these colleges there were special institutions created for noble students,
not only in Italy, but also to the north of the Alps, as will be explained
in detail in chapter 7. Finally, we must not forget that in the university
towns many religious orders possessed convents where their members
found shelter when they were studying at the university.

The fact that in early modern times students increasingly stayed in
university residences had a marked influence on the significance and

19 J. Fletcher, ‘The History of Academic Colleges: Problems and Prospects’, in I collegi
universitari, 16-17; M. Roggero, ‘I collegi universitari in eta moderna’, in L’universita
in Italia fra eta moderna e contemporanea. Aspetti e momenti (Bologna, 1991), 131;
see, for the colleges of Pavia, A. Milanesi, Il Nobile Collegio Caccia (1671-1820), Fonti
per la storia dell’Universita di Pavia, 16 (Milan, 1992), 17—22; and of Pisa C. B. Schmitt,
‘The University of Pisa in the Renaissance’, History of Education, 3.1 (1974), 9.

160

Management and resources

attendance of the nations. Even in the Middle Ages, several colleges or
halls (bursae) recruited students from a specific region, mostly that of
the founder or benefactors. In Italy, from the sixteenth century onwards,
there was quite a large number of this kind of ‘national’ college. These
colleges were often of a strong Counter-Reformation character, such as
the Collegio Ungaro-lIllirico or the Collegium Germanicum in Bologna,
and the numerous English and Irish colleges in Douai, Louvain, Paris,
Salamanca and Rome had a similar ethos.”° The students found in them
the protection and security they needed, which was normally offered by
a student’s nation. However, in this new type of Counter-Reformation
college, whose major promoters were Carlo Borromeo and Pope Pius V
in Italy, there was no place for a real student life. Scholars, for instance,
were not allowed to take part in the elections for rectors or in other
student ceremonies and rituals.*’ Generally speaking, from the sixteenth
century onwards the nations lost to the faculties a great deal of their
power and respect within the universities. Besides, in Italy, as we have
already said, the students’ universities had, in spirit, if not in structure,
developed into masters’ universities, and this left less space for active
student participation in ‘politics’ or management.”* However, as the
nations continued to form a structural part of the universities and
enjoyed specific privileges, they survived the ‘regionalization’ and the
pedagogical movements in higher education in several institutions. The
German nation in Bologna, for instance, was able to reinforce its pos-
ition temporarily, after receiving special privileges from Charles V in
1530, on the occasion of his imperial coronation in Bologna; the popes,
under pressure from the students, were reluctantly obliged to confirm
these privileges.** This helps to explain why the German nations,
together with the English—Scottish ones and the nations from eastern
European countries, remained active over the longest period and had
the greatest chances of survival. This is especially true for the nations

° Roggero, ‘I collegi’ (note 19), 120ff.; H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘The Place of the University
of Douai in the Peregrinatio Academica Britannica’, in J. M. Fletcher and H. de Ridder-
Symoens (eds.), Proceedings of the Second Biannual Conference of Belgian, British and
Dutch Historians of Universities Held in Oxford September 1989, Studia Historica
Gandensia (Ghent, 1994), 21-34; L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘The University of Paris and the
Maintenance of Catholicism in the British Isles, 1426-1789: a Study in Clerical Recruit-
ment’, Populations étudiantes, vol. 11 577-616.

Roggero, ‘I collegi’ (note 19), 121.

See the examples for Bologna and Padua: M. Wingens, ‘Gli studenti nel XVII e XVIII
secolo: privilegi, tradizioni e costumi’, Studi belgi e olandesi per il IX centenario
dell’alma mater bolognese (Bologna, 1990), 241-3.

P. Colliva, ‘Le ‘‘nationes”’ a Bologna in eta umanistica: i privilegi degli studenti germa-
nici (1530-1592), Annali dell’Istituto storico-italo-germanico in Trento, 5 (1979),

63-83.

2
2

I6I

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

in the studia of northern Italy, in Orléans, and also, to a lesser extent,
in Paris. It was the universities with strong nations that attracted most
wandering students during their peregrinatio academica.

There was no radical change in the organization of the management
of these nations in early modern times.** They did, however, lose some
of their autonomy. In Paris the four nations (French, Picardian, Norman
and Anglo-German), all united in the faculty of arts, declined in import-
ance in the late fifteenth and especially in the sixteenth century. This
had an effect on the decline in the international character of the Parisian
alma mater, as a result of the political situation (the Hundred Years
War and the Great Schism), on its loss of autonomy and to the altered
educational system within the faculty of arts. In 1619 Louis XIII abol-
ished the general assembly of the nations throughout the kingdom.’° In
Orléans also the nations were brought under the control of the authorit-
ies and in 1538 the ten nations were reduced to four. Until then the
nations, through the mouths of their procurators, had been actively
involved in the management of the university; they had elected the
rector, for instance, and although the four remaining nations (French,
Picardian, Norman and German) remained much more active than those
in other universities until well into the seventeenth century, their real
days of glory lay in the period preceding the religious wars.”° In other
French universities with a dominant faculty of law, such as Poitiers, Aix,
Angers and Valence, nations existed only for law students, just as they
did in Orléans. However, these nations never had the respect and auton-
omy of those in Orléans, and certainly not in early modern times. A
similar phenomenon occurred in Spanish universities such as Salamanca
and Lérida.*” Many universities in Scotland and in the Holy Roman
Empire that were founded in the fourteenth and fifteenth century fol-
lowed the Parisian four-nation model. Some universities limited them-
selves to a faculty of arts (St Andrews, Glasgow, Aberdeen, Louvain),
whereas in other institutions all students were placed in nations (Vienna,
Prague, Leipzig, Frankfurt-on-Oder).** This could even happen against
their will, as was the case in Vienna where the nations had already lost
all significance by the beginning of the sixteenth century. The students
no longer enrolled in a nation, although membership was compulsory,

4 See volume I, pp. 114-16, 282-4.

> P. Kibre, The Nations in the Mediaeval Universities, Mediaeval Academy of America,
49 (Cambridge, Mass., 1948), 109-13.

H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘La Révocation de |’Edit de Nantes (1685) et la nation ger-
manique de |’Université d’Orléans’, in C. M. Ridderikhoff and R. Feenstra (eds.), Etudes
néerlandaises de droit et d’histoire, special issue of Bulletin de la Société archéologique
et historique de |’Orléanais Ns, vol. ix, 68 (1985), 171-7.

Kibre, Nations (note 25), 132-58.

Kibre, Nations (note 25), 167-83.

i)
N

162

Management and resources

so the rector decided in 1749 to enrol the students in any nation when
they matriculated, irrespective of their origins.”’ In Leipzig, too, the stud-
ents were obliged to be members of one of the four nations until 1720.°°
The nations had their longest period of prosperity in Padua, because of
the great attraction this university held for foreigners, especially from
German-speaking countries. They provided a number of non-academic
services: banking and mail services, helping with passports, etc. Never-
theless, some of the ten ultramontane and the ten citramontane nations
of the university of law experienced difficulties in the sixteenth century
because of the wars and religious discord in Europe. Around the middle
of the sixteenth century the number of members in the citramontane
nations increased, an indication of the Italianization of the university.
In some universities the nations survived until the nineteenth century
and continued to play a structural role in the administration of the uni-
versity, for instance in the election of the dean (Louvain) or the rector
(Aberdeen, St Andrews, Leipzig), the appointment of teachers (Leipzig,
Louvain) or the jurisdiction of the university (Louvain).*’
Characteristic of all countries were the conflicts between the nations
themselves and between the various ‘nationalities’ within the nations
(Scots against English, Germans against Dutch or Poles, Poles against
those from Liége, etc.). The tensions grew in the course of the sixteenth
century as a result of the formation of ‘nation states’. In Padua in 1545,
incidents which sometimes even ended in physical hand-to-hand fighting
led a group of German students from the universities of law and arts to
found a dissident German club, the Inclyta Natio Germanica, with its
own administration, matricula, statutes and official recognition from the
Venetian and academic authorities. This club survived until 1801. In
1592, the Natio Regni Poloniae et Magni Ducatus Lithuaniae was
founded in a similar manner.** Students’ associations of the same kind
were also founded at other universities. In Louvain, the date of foun-
dation of the Inclyta Natio Germanica is not known, nor are those of
the Natio Polonica or of other ‘nationalist’ students’ clubs. Unlike its
illustrious namesake in Padua, the German nation in Louvain could not

?? G. Kaufmann, Geschichte der deutschen Universitaten, vol. 1 (Stuttgart, 1896; reprint
Graz, 1958), 64

°° Kibre, Nations (note 25), 179.

1 Kibre, Nations (note 25), 181-3; S. Schumann, ‘Die “nationes’” an den Universitaten
Prag, Leipzig und Wien. Ein Beitrag zur dlteren Universitatsgeschichte’, Ph.D. (Berlin,
1974), 216-7; L. van der Essen, ‘Les “‘nations” estudiantines a l’ancienne Université de
Louvain. Documents inédits’, Bulletin de la Commission royale d’histoire de Belgique,
89 (1925), 240, 245.

32 G. Mantovani (ed.), Acta nationis Germanicae iuristarum (1650-1709), Fonti per la
storia dell’Universita di Padova, 9 (Padua, 1983) and the review of H. de Ridder-
Symoens in History of Universities, 6 (1986-7), 152-5.

164

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

obtain official status from the rectorial authorities.*> The numerous stud-
ents’ clubs based on geographical origin in the Dutch Republic suffered
the same fate. These collegia nationalia or blood brotherhoods, which
made their appearance at the same time as the Dutch universities, were
little tolerated by the academic authorities because of their undisciplined
and noisy character; the clubs in Groningen were the worst of the lot.
Sometimes they were closed, but then they survived underground and
resurfaced after some time had passed. In the second half of the seven-
teenth century they disappeared unnoticed, for no clear reason.** In
other countries and universities similar students’ clubs existed but, as
they left little evidence behind, their history is difficult to trace. The
reports of the academic courts of justice do, however, provide quite a
lot of information on the subject. In Germany the Burschenschaften
achieved great notoriety, especially in the nineteenth century.

INTERNAL GOVERNMENT

Privileges and statutes

The similarity in structure and organization of large groups of universit-
ies can be seen from the university statutes. As in the Middle Ages, there
are clusters of statutes. The organization of the institutions is established
from top to bottom in identical terms. In comparison with the medieval
statutes, those of early modern times are much more detailed. Neverthe-
less, extensive comparative studies on early modern university statutes
are still awaiting their historian.

Universities were privileged bodies of teachers and students which
obtained their privileges from their founders and/or authorities. In prin-
ciple, all the privileges obtained by the institutions in the Middle Ages
continued into early modern times. They included special jurisdiction,
the right of self-management (drafting of statutes, co-optation of mem-
bers, governmental and academic liberty), exemptions (from various
kinds of taxation or military service or quartering) and special protective
measures (control on prices in the town; priority in case of food
scarcity).*’ In addition to this, the members of the universities, as recog-
nized state bodies, had certain social and political rights and advantages

33 J. Wils, Les Etudiants des régions comprises dans la nation germanique a l'Université
de Louvain, vol. 1 (Louvain, 1909), 10ff.

34 A. C. J. de Vrankrijker, Vier eeuwen Nederlandsch Studentenleven (Voorburg, n.d.),
117-36.

5 Volume 1, pp. 113-14 ; P. Kibre, Scholarly Privileges in the Middle Ages. The Rights,
Privileges and Immunities of Scholars and Universities at Bologna—Padua-—Paris—
Oxford, Mediaeval Academy of America, 72 (Cambridge, Mass., 1961) is also useful
for the period after 1500.

164

Management and resources

(delegations to diets and councils, reserved clerical prebends, seats on
the councils). From the sixteenth century certain new privileges were
acquired — a monopoly on printing, forms of legal deposit, milder forms
of censorship, permission to wear certain clothing reserved sometimes
for the nobility — but in practice many of these privileges were weakened
by the increased interference of the authorities in academic affairs, or
were restricted during political crises, or even violated.*® This inter-
ference by the authorities could be expressed in various ways. For
example, although the universities retained the right to draft their own
statutes, these only acquired the force of law after royal approval and
in France they also required the approval of the parliaments.*’ Later on,
the authorities themselves interfered increasingly in the drafting of the
statutes. In some cases, this took the form of a specific prohibitive law
for a single institution, or for all the institutions falling under the auth-
ority in question. Well-known examples are the protective regulations
concerning the domestic universities (prohibition against studying
abroad; compulsory graduation at a particular university in order to
occupy certain posts).*®

By the Middle Ages, but especially from the sixteenth century
onwards, princes and sovereigns drafted codes of statutes for a specific
institution or for all the institutions falling under their authority. These
legislative activities often followed an inspection. The authorities could
organize inspections for various reasons. When the region where the
university was located fell into the hands of new rulers, they demanded
a survey on the state of affairs, before passing on to statutory reforms.
They could also set up investigations of this kind after receiving com-
plaints about the poor functioning of the institution. These complaints
often surfaced when a new sovereign was enthroned. Members of the
academic community, just like other social groups, presented a set of
appeals to the new sovereign, and he would then set up an inspection
committee to investigate the grievances and complaints. At his
installation in 1598, Duke Maximilian of Bavaria, for example, ordered
detailed inspections, because of complaints concerning, inter alia, the
non-payment of salaries in Ingolstadt. The reports resulted in the
drafting of new statutes in 1642, in the hope of restoring order to
the affairs of a formerly chaotically functioning university.*”” In 1607
Archduke Albrecht and Archduchess Isabella ordered an inspection of

37M. de Villardi de Montlaur, ‘Le pouvoir royal et les universités dans la premiére moitié
du XVIlle siécle (1700-1762)’, Positions des théses (1970), 231-2.

38 See pp. 420-1.

3? K. von Prantl, Geschichte der Ludwig-Maximilians-Universitat in Ingolstadt, Landshut,
Miinchen, vol. 1 (Munich, 1872; reprint Aalen, 1968), 383ff.

165

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

the malfunctioning University of Louvain. The results of the investi-
gation, carried out by Abbot Johannes Drusius, member of the Estates
of Brabant, and Stephanus van Craesbeke, former professor in law of
Louvain, led in 1617 to the enactment of a fundamental law on higher
education, which remained in force until the new general statutes issued
in 1788 by Joseph II.*° Similarly, from the late fifteenth century onwards,
the French provincial parliaments systematically reformed the French
universities and provided them with new statutes. This was to continue
until the closing down of the universities in 1793.*' In the framework of
the great university reforms, the enlightened sovereigns in the eighteenth
century developed legislative activities much more systematically. This
legislation was designed and worked out by government officials, consti-
tuting ministries of education in embryo.”

It would be an endless task to list here the statutory activities of each
university. For most of them, the statutes are available either in old
prints or in modern editions; they form, as it were, a written consti-
tution. Well-known examples are the statutes for Cambridge, drafted by
the Master of Trinity College, John Whitgift, in 1570. They inspired
Bishop Laud when he was drawing up his Code of Statutes for Oxford
in 1636 and Trinity College Dublin in 1637. For Dublin this was an
urgent need according to William Bedell, provost from 1627: ‘the stat-
utes are part Latin, part English, and in sheets of paper without order’.*
These constitutional texts covered every branch of academic adminis-
tration down to the minutest details of dress and largely lasted until the
middle of the nineteenth century. The Charter of Charles X for Uppsala
of 1655 was an improved version of the statutes drafted in 1626 by
Axel Oxenstierna and Chancellor Johan Skytte. It determined the life of
all the Swedish universities for the rest of the ancien régime, since it
served as a model for reforms or new foundations (Dorpat 1632, Greifs-
wald, annexed in 1637, Abo 1640, Lund 1667).‘* The example of
Douai, founded in 1559/60 by Philip II, is most interesting. The organiz-
ational pattern, statutes and the first professors were taken over from
Louvain. It was unique for that time that two institutions of higher edu-
cation — even when they were situated in the same country — should be

4° Leuven (note 10), 39-41.

*! Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 154.

42M. Peset Reig, ‘Modelos y estatutos de las universidades espafiolas y portuguesas (siglos
XIII-X VIII)’, in A. Romana (ed.), Dall’universita degli studenti all’universita degli studi
(Messina, 1991), 65-106.

3 L. S. Sutherland, ‘The Laudian Statutes in the Eighteenth Century’, in History of Oxford.
V, 191-203; H.C. Porter, Reformation and Reactions in Tudor Cambridge (Cambridge,
1958), 163-8; J. V. Luce, Trinity College Dublin: First 400 Years, Trinity College
Dublin Quatercentenary Series, 7 (Dublin, 1992), 15-19; quotation p. 15.

Lindroth, Uppsala (note 14), 40-1, 50; M. Klinge, Eine nordische Universitat. Die Uni-
versitat Helsinki 1640-1990 (Helsinki, 1992), 116-35.

166

Management and resources

considered identical by the central government and that until 1667/8
official university legislation was applied to both the universities equally.
It lasted until 1749 when new statutes for the new French university,
streamlined after the French model, were approved by Louis XV.* The
statutory relation between Marburg and Giessen in the county of Hesse
follows the same line. This is an interesting example of statutory cluster
forming. The statutes of Marburg from 1629 were taken over,
unchanged, by Giessen in 1650, as this university considered itself the
successor to the Lutheran University of Marburg; they remained in force
until 1879. The University of Marburg, which had become Calvinist in
the meantime, also kept these statutes until the nineteenth century. The
publisher of the statutes of Marburg observed the numerous references
in the draft of the statutes of 1629 and 1650 to those of Leipzig, Jena,
Wittenberg, Rinteln, Rostock and even Padua and Leiden.”

University assemblies*’

The representative, legislative and administrative authority of the uni-
versity corporation was the general assembly, concilium generale,

* G. Cardon, La Fondation de l’Université de Douai (Paris, 1892), 213ff.; L. Mahieu,
‘Les statuts de l’Université de Douai, principalement des facultés des arts et de théologie
d’aprés la déclaration royale de 1749’, Mélanges de sciences religieuses, 12 (1955),
169-86.

46 See for the link chapter 2, pp. 73, 89; H. G. Gundel, Statuta Academiae Marpurgensis
deinde Gissensis de anno 1629. Die Statuten der Hessen-Darmstddtischen Landesuni-
versitat Marburg 1629-1650/Giefen 1650-1879, Veréffentlichungen der Historischen
Kommission fiir Hessen, 44 (Marburg, 1982), 9*-21*; see also H. Gundel, ‘Die Statuten
der Universitat Marburg von 1560’, in W. Heynemeyer, T. Klein and H. Seier (eds.),
Academia Marburgensis. Beitrége zur Geschichte der Philipps-Universitat Marburg,
Academia Marburgensis, 1 (Marburg, 1977), 111-47.

4” This paragraph about assemblies is the result of reading numerous studies on individual
universities and of reference works mentioned in the select bibliography. Examples,
unless otherwise mentioned, are from Pantin, Oxford Life (note 12); J. Twigg, The
University of Cambridge and the English Revolution 1625-1688, The History of the
University of Cambridge: Texts and Studies, 1 (Woodbridge, 1990); Porter, Refor-
mation (note 43), 163-8; P. B. Boissonnade (ed.), De l’Université de Poitiers. Passé et
présent (1432-1932) (Poitiers, 1932); G. Cascio Pratelli, L’universita e il principe. Gli
studi di Siena e di Pisa tra Rinascimento e Controriforma (Florence, 1975); M. Fernan-
dez Alvarez, L. Robles Carcedo and L. E. Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares (eds.), La Univ-
ersidad de Salamanca, vol. 1: Historia y proyecciones; vol. 1: Docencia e investigacion,
Acta Salmanticensia, Historia de la Universidad, 47-8, 2 vols. (Salamanca, 1990); F.
Javier Alejo Montes, La reforma de la Universidad de Salamanca a finales del S. XVI:
los estatutos de 1594, Acta Salmanticensia, Historia de la Universidad, 51 (Salamanca,
1990); Lindroth, Uppsala (note 14); Klinge, Helsinki (note 44); G. Schormann, Acade-
mia Ernestina. Die schaumburgische Universitat zu Rinteln an der Weser (1610/21-
1810), Academia Marburgensis, 4 (Marburg, 1982), 199ff.; G. A. Will, Geschichte und
Beschreibung der niirnbergischen Universitat Altdorf, 2nd edn (Altdorf, 1801; reprint
Aalen 1975); Steinmetz, Jena (note 15); Gundel, ‘Marburg’ (note 46); K. H. Wolf, Die
Heidelberger Universitatsangehorige im 18. Jahrhundert. Studien zu Herkunft, Werde-
gang und sozialem Beziehungsgeflecht (Heidelberg, 1991); H.-W. Thiimmel, Die Tiib-

167

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

congregatio generalis or plena, mostly called senatus under the influence
of humanist Latin from the sixteenth century onwards. The composition
of the Senate could differ according to the university. -

In the Middle Ages every graduate was a member of the general
assembly. From the sixteenth century onwards, there was a tendency to
reduce the power of the increasing number of young teachers and lec-
turers in the faculty of arts. In the French universities, as in those of the
German Empire and Sweden where the general assembly was called a
consistorium, only the ordinary professors (ordinarii) could participate.
In Oxbridge, too, all the residing masters and doctors having an Oxford
or Cambridge degree remained members of the Great Congregation or
Convocation (Oxford), or the Senate (Cambridge). The latter consisted
of two houses: one of the regents, the other of the non-regents. However,
in both universities, from the late sixteenth century onwards, the com-
petence, and therefore the power, of the Senate was reduced in favour
of the vice-chancellor and the heads of the houses. In universities with
nations, as in Poitiers and Orléans, on the other hand, the general
assembly consisted of the deans, the procurators of the nations and rep-
resentatives of the teaching staff. Other mixed forms existed, as in Sala-
manca, where the claustro pleno was composed of the chairholders
(catedrdaticos) and students’ representatives. In the students’ universities,
as in Bologna, Padua and Catania, the assembly consisted only of stud-
ents, namely the presidents of the nations (consiliarii); the professors
had their own assemblies on a faculty basis.

All the legislative, management and legal tasks, in principle, fell within
the competence of the general assembly. The members of the assembly
could form committees and appoint delegations for the execution of cer-
tain tasks. For example, members of the assemblies were designated
librarians, archivists, accounts auditors or printing-office supervisors.

For the day-to-day running of the university a reduced Senate was
created. This was an executive committee which varied widely in its
composition. It could consist of the rector and the delegates, of the rector
and the deans, of the rector and one or more professors per faculty
or of any other composition. In Oxford, this reduced council, called
Congregation, consisted of all the regent masters, which meant the entire
teaching staff, and the young masters of arts, who, after taking their

inger Universitatsverfassung im Zeitalter des Absolutismus (Tubingen, 1975), 146ff.;
L. S. Sutherland, ‘The Administration of the University’, in History of Oxford V, 205-
25; L. Simeoni, Storia della Universita di Bologna, vol. 11: L’eta moderna (1500-1800)
(Bologna, 1947); Prantl, Ingolstadt (note 39), vol. 1; E. Wolgast, Die Universitat Heidel-
berg 1386-1986 (Berlin, 1986); F. Canella Secades, Historia de la Universidad de
Oviedo y noticias de los establecimientos de ensefianza de su distrito, 2nd edn (Oviedo,
1903/4; reprint Oviedo, 1985); M. W. Jurriaanse, The Foundation of Leyden (Leiden,

1965).

168

Management and resources

degree, had to do the ‘necessary regency’ for another one or two years.
To restrict the influence of the large group of the masters of arts — who
often behaved as rebellious ‘young lions’ — decisions were increasingly
taken by the vice-chancellor and the heads of colleges. In Cambridge, the
reduced council or caput senatus was composed of the vice-chancellor, a
representative of the faculties of theology, law and arts (music), and two
representatives of the Senate (one from each house). First in Cambridge,
and then later in Oxford, the vice-chancellor and the heads of houses,
together with the proctors and some professors, started meeting weekly.
These Hebdomadal Councils became the real governing bodies of the
university. In Salamanca, on the other hand, the claustro consisted of
the student-rector and eight chosen student-councillors; these students
had to be at least 21 years of age and be clergymen from different dio-
ceses. The principal task of the claustro de consiliaros was the election
of the chairholders, the rector, senators, bursars, syndics, beadles and
librarians. The real government was in the hands of a council of twenty
deputees (ten chairholders and ten nobles), the claustro ordinario. At
Bologna, in the first half of the sixteenth century, Bolognese com-
missioners were occasionally appointed to mediate between the riforma-
tori (see below, p. 182) and the students’ council. Around the middle
of the sixteenth century this became a fixed organ, called assunteria di
studio, constituting the real government of the university until 1796. In
the Dutch universities outsiders, namely the curatores, were also added
to the governing body. In Leiden (1575) the executive committee con-
sisted of the rector, appointed by the stadtholder, four assessores, chosen
from each faculty, and four curatores, qualified persons from outside
the university appointed by the provincial States of Holland and the city
of Leiden.

For the post-Reformation period, one can wonder just how far the
authority of these councils reached, or rather, what was the extent of
their competence, taking into account the fact that the ‘central’ govern-
ment increasingly interfered directly in a great number of academic
affairs: appointment of academic authorities (rectors and _ vice-
chancellors, heads of the colleges, chairholders) and professors, drafting
of regulations and statutes, stipulations of the teaching subjects, etc., all
matters traditionally pertaining to the academic councils.

Faculty assemblies*®

Like the universities themselves, the faculties also had their own councils
(concilia facultatis), chaired by the dean of the faculty. Usually the dean

“8 For literature see note 47.

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

was chosen from among them. The deans were assisted by a secretary
(also called syndicus, dictator, notarius, etc.) and a treasurer. The mem-
bers of the faculty were responsible for the functioning of the faculty,
which was quite autonomous in the matter of appointment or co-
optation of its members. They drafted statutes and decided on the practi-
cal organization of teaching, the programme, the examinations and the
granting of degrees. This autonomy varied, however, according to the
direct interference of the highest authorities in academic affairs. The
authorities interfered especially in the appointment of the professors and
towards the end of the ancien régime they also interfered increasingly
in the content of the courses, often as a reaction against the over-
conservative attitude of the professors.*’

This conservatism was a result of the growing endogamous and
restrictive character of the faculty. From the sixteenth century onwards,
just as for the Senate, there was a tendency no longer to admit the entire
teaching staff but only the ordinary professors to the faculty assembly,
and this had consequences for the structure of the faculties in France.
Henceforth, three types of universities can be distinguished:

(1) the most traditional ones where masters and students, united in
nations, resided together in the faculty assembly (faculty of arts in
Paris and Orléans);

(2) those where each doctor taught in one way or another and resided
in the faculty (faculty of medicine in Paris);

(3) those organized in professorial faculties, where only the small
number of chairholders were members of the faculty (faculty of
medicine in Montpellier from the sixteenth century). The crown
was strongly in favour of this type in the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries. It guaranteed order, discipline and tradition.”

The law faculty assemblies in Germany were endowed with an import-
ant, extra-university task in early modern times. They fulfilled the func-
tion of Spruchkollegien and had to advise the local and regional courts
of justice with consilia or Gutachten in certain juridical cases, amongst
other things, in witch trials. Their advice was binding. In other countries
this advisory task for the lower courts of justice was taken over by the
supreme courts of justice, such as the Parliament of Paris. The faculties
of theology were asked to act as censors in matters of religious ortho-
doxy and the medical faculties had a controlling role in the appointment
of medical doctors and the functioning of the collegia medica in the
bigger cities.”

*? See also chapters 5 and rq.

°° Chartier, Education en France, 251-2.

°1-R. Stichweh, Der moderne Staat und die europdische Universitat. Zur Interaktion von
Politik und Erziehungssystem im Prozess ihrer Ausdifferenzierung (16.-18.

170

Management and resources

Officials°?

There was no radical change in the appointment or function of the rector
qua head of the university institution in early modern times. In Paris the
rector was still chosen from amongst the regent masters of one of the
four nations of the faculty of arts, and in Poitiers, Bourges (until 1552)
and Orléans he was chosen by the procurators of the nations. In most
of the continental universities north of the Alps, however, the rector was
chosen from amongst the ordinary professors by the general assembly
for a short term of office (often for one year, but usually for one
semester). In general, the procedure was only a formality, since the pro-
fessors took turns to hold the office. In newly founded universities, the
fact that the rector was often directly appointed by the sovereign
explicitly demonstrated the interference of the state.

At all the universities in the Holy Roman Empire, with the exception
of Cologne, it became the custom to grant the function regularly to
either royalty or students of high noble birth. The real office was exer-
cised by the pro-rector or professor whose turn it was to become the
rector. This was, in fact, similar to the custom in the northern Italian
and Spanish students’ universities, where the most distinguished amongst
the members of the students’ nations was chosen as rector. The universit-
ies hoped that the rector’s power and prestige would reflect on the insti-
tution and that the rector would be a ‘broker’ between them and the
highest political and social circles.*?

Although the medieval tradition of choosing a student rector con-
tinued in many Spanish and Italian universities, the fulfilment of the
office underwent some modifications. It became an honorary function.
In some studia the student rectorship was even abolished and the stud-
ents only retained the right to vote; the rector had to be chosen from
amongst the professors. Finally, in several Italian universities, which
came under foreign authority, the rectorship was completely taken out
of the hands of the students, a common enough situation in universities
founded after 1500. The following examples will illustrate these
assertions. In Bologna from the sixteenth century onwards only one
rector was chosen amongst all the students, instead of the traditional

Jahrhundert) (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1991), 169-70; H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Intellectual
and Political Backgrounds of the Witch-Craze in Europe’, in S. Dupont-Bouchat (ed.),
La Sorcellerie aux Pays-Bas — Hekserij in de Nederlanden, Anciens Pays et Assemblées
d’Etat — Standen en Landen, 86 (Kortrijk/Heule, 1987), 44-56; for the consilia activities
of the university professors see also chapter 5, p. 218.

°2 This paragraph about officials is the result of reading many monographs on individual
universities and the reference works mentioned in the select bibliography. Examples,
except those otherwise mentioned, are from the bibliography mentioned in note 47.

°3 For details about this honorary rectorate see B. Jager, ‘Die Ehrenrektoren der Universitat
GiefSen 1609-1723’, in P. Moraw and V. Press (eds.), Academia Gissensis. Beitrage zur
dlteren Giessener Universitatsgeschichte (Marburg, 1982), 221-46.

171

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

two (one for the university of law, and one for the university of arts
and medicine). In 1604 — to the delight of the municipal and episcopal
authorities — there was not a single candidate-rector. Thus, the student
rectorship died a silent death and thenceforth the function was fulfilled
by rotation by the prior (chairman) of the students’ nations. The protec-
tor of the studium did the real work. In the framework of the previously
mentioned educational reforms initiated by Maria Theresia in 1771, it
is true that the rector of Padua was still chosen by the students, but he
was chosen by rotation amongst the professors of the four universities.
The post-medieval University of Modena, the Studio Pubblico di San
Carlo, founded in 1682, followed the ultramontane model from the start
and chose its rector from amongst the teachers.**

The municipal authorities and the professors found it difficult to take
these student rectors seriously. Consequently, over the centuries, the
power of the young rector was systematically diminished. The University
of Catania in Sicily (founded in 1434) provides a good example of this
evolution. The chancellor(-bishop) of the University of Catania was
regularly requested to intervene in rectorial decisions and the riformatori
(see below, p. 182) kept a vigilant eye on the rector. Moreover, from
1590 onwards the appointment of the teachers was taken out of the
hands of the rector and his student councillors and handed over to two
elettori, nobles from the town. At the great reformation of the University
by the Spanish crown in 1687, academic jurisdiction, until then exercised
by the rector and his council, was entrusted to the chancellor-bishop.”°

In England, in the late Middle Ages, the office of rector evolved along
the foregoing lines. From the fifteenth century onwards, it was no longer
a fellow who was chosen to be the chancellor (a similar office to the
rector on the Continent) but a non-resident magnate who, it was
assumed, would defend the interests of the university at the royal court.
The real head (or rector) of the university became the vice-chancellor,
at first chosen from amongst the fellows by Convocation (Oxford) or
the Senate (Cambridge), later on chosen from amongst the heads of the
houses and designated by the chancellor at Oxford from 1569 onwards
and by the Senate at Cambridge from 1586 onwards.”°

In the college universities, the situation was somewhat more compli-
cated. The relationship between the university and the college depended
on the role played by the head of the college in the university. In Alcala
and Dublin the solution adopted was to combine the offices of rector

*4 C. G. Mor and P. di Pietro, Storia dell’Universita di Modena, Storia delle Universita
Italiane, 2, vol. 1 (Florence, 1975), 58.

°° M., Catalano et al., Storia della Universita di Catania dalle origini ai giorni nostri
(Catania, 1934), 47-51, 115-18.

°° See Twigg, Cambridge (note 47), 4-5; Pantin, Oxford Life (note 12), 22-3.

172

Management and resources

and head of the college in one person. Another solution consisted of
according a key position within the university to the head. In Aberdeen
this was carried out in the literal sense of the word, by handing over
one of the three keys of the university chest to the head.”’

The tasks of the rector/vice-chancellor or of the acting rector were
manifold. As head of the institution he represented the university to the
outside world and he coordinated the management of the various aca-
demic corporations which together formed the university faculties, col-
leges, nations and, possibly, other bodies such as the university presses.
He chaired the Senate or the general assembly, he was the lord justice
of the academic court of justice, he took responsibility for education,
discipline, management and finance. In these functions he chaired all
the councils and the assemblies and conducted the promotions. At his
resignation, the rector had to hand over the great seal, the books and
the cash to his successor, after an audit. The rector was the first in the
hierarchy (préséance) of the university and very highly placed in the hier-
archy of the town or the central government.”®

In several universities a vice-rector was appointed as a stand-by for
the rector.

Moreover, in carrying out his task, the rector was assisted by one or
more secretaries (dictator, registrar, scribe, clerk), notaries, syndics and
beadles. These officials were at least masters of arts, if not bachelors or
licentiates in law. This was certainly the case for the syndics-lawyers,
responsible for all legal matters and the drafting and legalization of all
official documents. In early modern times, even the beadles had often
received a university education. The statutes of Marburg from 1570
explicitly say that ‘two beadles are to be chosen, who are, if possible,
masters of arts, but at least, bachelors of arts’.°? The officials could be
either members of the university or outsiders. Their function was almost
the same as in the Middle Ages.°° In the students’ universities, the tasks
of bursar, secretary, notary and beadle were not carried out by students,
but by townsmen.

An important medieval non-academic official, the messenger or nun-
tius, who maintained contact between the university and the home-town
of the students, seems to be less important in the early modern univer-

°” ‘J. M. Fletcher, ‘The College-University: its Development in Aberdeen and Beyond’, in
J. J. Carter and D. J. Withrington (eds.), Scottish Universities: Distinctiveness and Diver-
sity (Edinburgh, 1992), 16-17.

8 See p. 253 for the place of the rector of Louvain in the Brabant hierarchy.

°°? Gundel, ‘Marburg’ (note 46), 144-5.

6° See for this vol. 1, pp. 126-9 and the detailed study by E. Th. Nauck, ‘Das Pedellenamt
und die Pedelle der Universitat Freiburg im Breisgau bis zum Anfang des 19. Jahrhun-
derts’, in C. Bauer et al., Aufsdtze zur Freiburger Wissenschaftsgeschichte (Freiburg im
Breisgau, 1960), 183-219.

173

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

sity.°' This, of course, was the result of better means of communication
and safer means of payment. Where they are still mentioned in the
sources, the function is more an honorary one for burghers of the city
than anything else.

In Oxbridge, the two annually chosen proctors were the principal
administrative officials, guaranteeing the publica universitatis negotia,
as mentioned in the Laudian Code for Oxford in 1636. They organized
the disputations, the examinations and the public ceremonies, and they
supervised the town markets. One of their principal tasks was also to
maintain order and discipline amongst the students (see below, p. 176).
In Oxford, the proctors had a veto in the university councils. Up to
1628, the proctors in Oxford were chosen by the university councils but
after this date they were chosen by the colleges.®

Another key figure in the university administration was the financial/
economic official, for the sake of convenience called bursar here. Cer-
tainly, in early modern times, a greater diversification took place in this
office, which is reflected in the nomenclature: treasurer, oeconomos,
quaestor, aedilis, provisor fisci, receptor (generalis), massarius, mayor-
domo, hacedor, administrator. Bursars were in charge of the manage-
ment of the goods, the finances and the organization of the material
life of the institution. They were assisted by collectors (juezcollectores,
contadores, taxatores or tasadores, receptores, etc.). Members of the
university were appointed annually for the audit of the accounts. Most
of the universities and colleges employed several bursars; some special-
ized in the estates, others in finance, others in domestic affairs. Sala-
manca counted no fewer than four bursars (two academics, a clergyman
and a townsman). Detailed studies on the economic life of the University
of Salamanca in the second half of the eighteenth century provide an
interesting insight into the great complexity of the financial adminis-
tration and economic management.® For some specific tasks, the bursar
could be assisted by special officials. For example, as well as a bursar,
the University of Abo appointed an academy guardian for the collection
of the tithes and taxes of the estates. The bursar could be a member of
the academic staff appointed by the members of the university, or an
outsider, in which case he was appointed by the university itself. In

6! This messenger/nuntius must not be confused with the nuntius who appears in Modena;
it is the name given to the beadle (see Mor and di Pietro, Modena (note 54), 59).

6 Pantin, Oxford Life (note 12), 76-84; J. Griffiths (ed.), Statutes of the University of
Oxford Codified in the Year 1636 under the Authority of Archbishop Laud, Chancellor
of the University (Oxford, 1888), 172.

63 F, Méndez Sanz, La Universidad salmantina de la Ilustracién (1750-1800): hacienda
y reforma, Acta Salmanticensia, Historia de la Universidad, 50 (Salamanca, 1990).

174

Management and resources

Uppsala the bursar had to be a university graduate, but he was not a
professor. He was appointed by the king.

As we shall see later at length, more universities also started having
recourse to professional librarians, archivists and printers. The licensed
printers and booksellers were cives universitatis, and with this status
they enjoyed all the privileges of the academic community. They were
not, however, considered to be university officials, unlike the printers of
the Oxbridge university presses.

This also applied to the pharmacists with a practice in town, who
supplied the faculty of medicine with the necessary chemicals and medi-
cines or who ran a university pharmacy of their own. From the seven-
teenth century onwards, the more fashionable universities which catered
for the Grand Tour students employed language, dance and music teach-
ers, fencing and riding masters, military engineers and strategists. They
were appointed by the university, or worked on a freelance basis.”

As the grandeur of the academic ceremonies increased towards the
end of the ancien régime, masters of ceremonies and public orators made
their appearance in the statutes and on the pay-lists.

Although we find stewards, butlers and all kinds of maintenance ser-
vants on the university staff, they are to be found especially in the col-
leges and residences. The college officials will not be mentioned any
further in this chapter. As academic corporations, colleges can be con-
sidered as universities on a small scale. Of course, staffing was according
to need, and institutions often had at their disposal an extensive catering
and maintenance staff.

The payroll of Rinteln, a poor, small German university, gives a good
idea of university staffing.®° In 1665, besides the twelve professors (with
salaries varying from 350 to 150 Reichstaler), a secretary (60 Rtl.), a
printer (50 Rtl.) and two beadles (50 Rtl. each) were paid out of univer-
sity funds. In 1748/9, the list was longer still: thirteen professors (salaries
between 547 and roo Rtl.), a fiscus academicus (20 Rtl.), a syndicus (50
Rtl.), a manager (81 Rtl.), an emonitor (27 Rtl.), a depositor and a
beadle (each 60 Rtl.), a fencing master (100 Rtl.), a dance teacher, a
printer and a gardener (50 Rtl. each), a bookbinder (25 Rtl.) and finally
the dean of the Community (residence) (740 Rtl.). In 1761/2 and 1781/
2 the list was almost the same, save that an equerry (350 Rtl.) and a
French teacher (50 Rtl.) were added to the list. The salaries in Rinteln
did not differ very much from those in Jena, but they were half the level
of those in Halle.

° Wolf, Heidelberger Universitatsangehérige (note 47), 64-5.

6° See chapter 10, p. 432.
6° Schormann, Academia Ernestina (note 47), 187-9; Steinmetz, Jena (note 15), 229.

175

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

Justice

Special attention should be paid to disciplinary officials. Discipline prob-
lems were inherent in a student community. As already mentioned, sensi-
tiveness on this matter increased. The academic authorities not only tried
to lock up, in colleges and other residencies, these students — ‘young
men, impetuous, inexperienced and pleasure-seeking’, as was stated in
the New Aberdeen code of laws of about 1600°’ — but they also needed
to guard them outside the college walls. So the universities appointed
persons with the specific task of supervising the students: the heb-
domadar in Aberdeen, the two proctors, assisted by the masters of the
street in Oxford, the juez (judge) in Salamanca, beadles in Heidelberg,
the promotor in Louvain, the city bailiff, called promotor, in Leiden. The
difference in tasks of the academic courts and the disciplinary officers in
the Middle Ages and early modern times is striking. Until the middle of
the sixteenth century the rector, as the highest officer of justice in the
university, was primarily responsible for the preservation of order and
the avoidance of violence; afterwards, much more attention was paid to
morality and compliant conduct.

The evidence gleaned in the academic courts confirms that these young
people were not easy to discipline. We are better informed about the
functioning of these courts of justice in early modern times, thanks to
more abundant primary sources and a certain number of monographs
on the subject.®

Not all the universities founded after 1500 were granted their own
court of justice. Members of the academic community of Utrecht (1636)
in the Dutch Republic, Marburg (1527), Jena (1558) and Wiirzburg

6? C. A. McLaren, ‘Discipline and Decorum: the Law-codes of the Universities of Aber-
deen, 1605-1686’, in Carter and Withrington (eds.), Scottish Universities (note 57),
132.

°° For the Iberian peninsula: A. De Vasconcelos, ‘Génese e evolucdo histérica do foro
académico da universidade portuguesa. Extingéo do mesmo (1290-1834)’, in A. De
Vasconcelos, Escritos varios relativos a universidade dioniziana, vol. 1 (Coimbra, 1938),
297-334; J. Gonzalez Prieto, La Universidad de Alcala en el siglo XVII (Madrid, 1939;
reprint Madrid, 1989); for the Low Countries: C. Vandenghoer, De rectorale rechtbank
van de oude Leuvense Universiteit (1425-1797) (Brussels, 1987); M. F. M. Wingens,
‘Zur Vermeidung der Schande: Organisation und strafrechtliche Tatigkeit der Universit-
atsgerichte in der Republik der Niederlande (1575-1811)’, in H. Mohnhaupt and D.
Simon (eds.), Vortrdge zur Justizforschung. Geschichte und Theorie, vol. 1
(Frankfurt-on-Main, 1992), 79-100; C. M. Ridderikhoff, ‘De Franequer Los-Kop’, in
Jensma et al., Franeker (note 16), 119-32; for Germany: F. Stein, Die akademische
Gerichtsbarkeit in Deutschland (Leipzig, 1891); S. Briidermann, Géttinger Studenten
und akademische Gerichtsbarkeit im 18. Jahrhundert, Gottinger Universitatsschriften,
Series A, no. 15 (G6ttingen, 1990); in many other monographs data about the academic
courts of justice are to be found.

176

Management and resources

(1582) in the German Empire, for example, were tried by the supreme
provincial and sovereign courts.

In all universities, the rector was head of the court of justice. In the
students’ universities, however, this task fell to the chancellor, pro-
rector, vice-rector, riformatore, or other external governor, who per-
formed the rectorial duties. The other members of the court of justice
often varied from place to place. In Abo the general assembly or Con-
sistorium functioned as a court of justice,” just as in Oxford, where
Convocation was the chief court of appeal (the Chancellor’s Court, but
usually called the Vice-Chancellor’s Court). In Poitiers, on the other
hand, the Tribunal de |’Université was composed, until 1768, of the
rector and two delegates per faculty and per nation; the chancellor and
the conservator of the privileges could attend the sessions. From 1768
onwards, the court of justice still consisted of the rector, the deans, one
representative per nation, the attorney-general and a secretary-general.””
The courts of justice of Franeker, Groningen and Harderwijk were com-
posed of the rector and some professors. In Leiden, the town, because
of its great contribution to the foundation of the university, wanted to
retain its influence in the university. Consequently, the court was com-
posed of the rector, four assessors, chosen from the four faculties, the
four burgomasters and two aldermen. In Louvain they contented them-
selves with the rector and one assessor. Notaries, clerks, syndics, law-
yers, solicitors and beadles provided support for academic justice. It is
not so clear who had the task of guarding the offenders in the university
prison. Some of these prisons still have student inscriptions on their walls
(Copenhagen, Heidelberg, Cracow).

The university court of justice was in principle competent in civil and
criminal cases for all the members (cives academici, suppositi) of the
institution. Students and teachers, their wives, families and servants, the
external officials appointed by the university and all persons engaged in
book production and the sale of books were considered members. The
practical consequences should be retraced for each case. We notice that
in some universities criminal cases were referred to the civil courts
(Franeker, Groningen and Harderwijk), but sometimes only with the
agreement of the rector (Padua). Those who dispensed justice could vary
according to the time and the state of relations between the studium
generale and the secular or clerical authorities and the town.

The most common offences were: religious delinquency, immoral
offences, drunkenness often accompanied by verbal and physical viol-
ence, murder, theft, vandalism, duelling, forbidden bearing of weapons,

® Klinge, Helsinki (note 44), 112-13.
7 Boissonnade, Poitiers (note 47), 29.

177

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

neglect of duty, debts, games of chance, forgery. But a university court
could also act in matrimonial cases (Altdorf).”* In early modern times a
censure, fine, corporal punishment and confinement in the university
prison were also applied as punishments, although most of the time the
offenders got away with a fine. The university statutes give lists of tariffs
in this matter. For serious offences the student or teacher was expelled
(consilium abeundi). Appeal was only possible at the highest courts of
justice of the state (the King’s Council in England, the parliaments in
France, the provincial or central councils in the Low Countries, the
municipal councils in the Italian communes).

It can be easily understood that there was a great deal of tension
between town and gown over jurisdiction. The citizens criticized the
university authorities for being too tolerant with its suppositi and with
overlooking many cases, especially when the offences were against
townsmen. The non-academics became less and less tolerant of the spe-
cial position of the academics. Some universities found solutions to this
problem. In Cambridge all the normal cases in which suppositi were
involved appeared before the Chancellor’s Court. When a townsman
accused a member of the university of more serious criminal offences
such as treason or felony, however, then a jury was composed half of
university men. On the whole, the authority of the academic courts of
justice was visibly and seriously diminished in the late seventeenth and
the eighteenth century. In the Chancellor’s Court of Oxford most of the
convictions of that time were related to debts, and in the eighteenth
century in France, nearly all the disputes and offences were tried by the
royal judges. Incidentally, the French studia had permanent representa-
tives at the parliaments and at the Cour conservatrice des priviléges
royaux in the persons of lawyers and solicitors.’ But even in countries
where the academic courts of justice were still fully operational, the
meaning and desirability of these exceptional courts were called into
question at the end of the ancien régime. They did not fit in with endeav-
ours to achieve uniformity and the centralization of justice and adminis-
tration. According to G6ttinger professor Meiners,” they should be
retained in their integral form, as the academic judges were much more
competent than the local judges and had a deeper understanding of the
types of conduct of the offenders. An additional element in this matter
was, according to Meiners, that their own academic jurisdiction was the

™ Will, Altdorf (note 47), 53.

” See for Cambridge Twigg, Cambridge (note 47), xiv; for Oxford Pantin, Oxford Life
(note 12), 54-67; for France Villardi, ‘Pouvoir royal’ (note 37); Boissonnade, Poitiers
(note 47), 39.

> C. Meiners, Ueber die Verfassung und Verwaltung deutscher Universitadten, vol. 1
(Gottingen, 1801), 103ff.

i78

Management and resources

only privilege that had survived seven hundred years not only inviolate
but even extended. According to him that was reason enough to main-
tain it. This G6ttinger professor omitted to mention that the academic
authorities feared that the reputation of many leading families would be
damaged if outsiders were to hear of the misdemeanours of their progeny
during their student days. Both academic authorities and parents were
convinced that, since, after settling down, these ‘delinquents’ would
become responsible leaders of society, there was no point in compromis-
ing them for the sins of their youth.

EXTERNAL GOVERNMENT

From the moment the studia generalia came into being they were under
the supervision of a senior episcopal authority, the chancellor.” In the
Middle Ages, this chancellor was normally the dean of the church (Paris,
Vienna, Heidelberg, Cologne), the local bishop (Ingolstadt) or the arch-
deacon (Bologna). In Protestant countries this task was taken over in
the sixteenth century by the sovereign lord or his stadtholder. In the
Lutheran and Catholic countries, clerical (bishops, abbots, etc.) as well
as secular dignitaries (councillors, ex-professors, noblemen, etc.) were
chosen for this function by the sovereign. The duties of the chancellor-
ship were in many cases delegated to a pro-chancellor or vice-chancellor.
In Altdorf, this was a member of the town council of Nuremberg, in
Tubingen and in Marburg a well-known man, a graduate doctor of their
own university.”” When King Gustav II Adolph installed the chancellor-
ship in Uppsala in 1622, he himself appointed his personal adviser and
confidant Johan Skytte to the function; he later performed the same func-
tion in the Universities of Abo and Dorpat. The chancellor was assisted
by a pro-chancellor, in Uppsala always by the archbishop of Sweden, in
Abo the bishop of Abo and in Dorpat the superintendent of Livonia.
The pro-chancellors often participated in the meetings of the consistory
and in so doing they were more involved in the university than else-
where, which led to tensions with the academic corps. In England, until
1677 (death of Archbishop Sheldon), a clergyman, usually an arch-
bishop, and a layman were appointed, such as the Earl of Leicester under
Elizabeth I. Afterwards only laymen were appointed to this supervisory
function.

7 On this function, inter alia, R. A. Miiller, Geschichte der Universitat. Von der mittelal-
terlichen Universitas zur deutschen Hochschule (Munich, 1990), 23-4; Pantin, Oxford
Life (note 12), 85-90; Lindroth, Uppsala (note 14), 37, 41, 47; Klinge, Helsinki (note
44), 31, 114-15; K. Siilivask (ed.), History of Tartu University 1632-1982 (Tallinn,
1985), 25-7, 38-9; Will, Altdorf (note 47); Boissonnade, Poitiers (note 47), 31-42.

> Will, Altdorf (note 47), 61-4; Gundel, ‘Marburg’ (note 46), 133; Thiimmel, Tiibinger
Universitatsverfassung (note 47), 113.

179

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

The performance of the task differed according to the university and
depended strongly on the personality of the chancellor or the pro-
chancellor. When, as in Salamanca, the chancellor, called maestrescuela,
carried out the real rectorial tasks, his involvement with the institution
was comprehensive. But other chancellors too were very devoted to their
tasks and laid the foundations for thorough reforms with the appropri-
ate new statutes. We only have to remember the chancellor of Oxford,
Bishop Laud, and the chancellor of Uppsala, Johan Skytte. Others con-
sidered the chancellorship rather a formality, an attitude reinforced in
the course of the eighteenth century when education, and specifically
higher education, came to be considered a matter for the state. The result
was that a more professional and extensive body of officials was given
responsibility for (higher) educational affairs.

In France we can see this development clearly. As head of the royal
chancellery, the chancellor was the superintendent of all the universities
and colleges. He supervised the parliamentary inspections of the uni-
versities, he sealed all the letters patent dealing with education and
supervised the application of the royal regulations in every matter. Fur-
thermore, the local chancellors were involved in the ceremonies for the
granting of degrees, and guaranteed, in consultation with the conser-
vators of the privileges, that these privileges were observed. The financial
affairs of the universities in the eighteenth century fell under the depart-
ment of the general controller of finances and the secretaries of state.
As the French universities had increasingly become state universities,
governmental institutions, governors and intendants, regional parlia-
mentarians and subaltern state prosecutors (lieutenants généraux des
baillages et sénéchaussées, procureurs et avocats du rot, prévots) dealt
with the universities at different levels.”

In the eighteenth century special departments, ministries of education,
were founded. This was related to the difficult task of creating a network
of state schools, replacing those of the Jesuits after their expulsion. In
this domain the Empress Maria Theresia was extremely active. In Vienna
she created in 1760 a Studienhofkommission which she supervised and
which was responsible for all questions dealing with education at all
different levels.’’ Similar measures were taken in the Austrian-controlled
territories. For example in 1771 a Magistrato Generale degli Studi was
founded in Milan, charged with the organization and supervision of the
University of Pavia and of all the public schools in the duchy. The coun-

76 Villardi, ‘Pouvoir royal’ (note 37).

”” J. Stanzel, Die Schulaufsicht im Reformwerk des Johann Ignaz von Felbiger (1724-
1788). Schule, Kirche und Staat in Recht und Praxis des aufgeklarten Absolutismus,
Rechts- und Staatswissenschaftliche Verdffentlichungen der Gorres-Gesellschaft, Ns 18
(Paderborn, 1976), 237-8, 379.

180

Management and resources

cil was composed of a superintendent, four governors, elected from the
four faculties of the University of Pavia, a secretary, an offiziale and a
scribe.”®

Spain was a forerunner, having founded in the first half of the seven-
teenth century a Junta de EducaciOon and a Junta de Colegios (1623).
This permanent body was composed of six former colegiales entrusted
with the supervision of college affairs. The Junta de Colegios was not
particularly effective because of the close affinity of its members with
the colleges.”

Poland, nevertheless, can claim to be the first country that had a real
ministry of education. After the abolition of the Jesuits a Commission
for National Education was created in 1773 with the modernization of
higher education as one of its aims. It was the rector of the University
of Cracow who was head of all the national schools. The supervision
of university teacher-training for state schools was one of his tasks.*°

The inspection of the university became less and less the duty of the
chancellor. As mentioned above, special superintendents, government
officers who were mostly prelates or ex-professors chosen ad hoc, were
in charge of this task. If necessary, their detailed reports were followed
by the taking of measures. As mentioned above, such reports often led
to the drawing up of new codes or statutes. In England, the first inspec-
tion of its two universities took place in 1535. This inspection had
extreme consequences for Oxbridge. It redefined the relationship of the
state to the academy and effected significant academic changes.*’ In
Spain, Charles V was extremely active in this domain, and his son Philip
II even more so. By order of Charles V, the University of Salamanca was
visited three times, and under Philip II no fewer than eleven times. This
resulted in the great statutory reforms of 1594 and 1625.*” Generally
speaking, however, we can state that a regular inspection of the univer-
sity in all its facets (staff, education, behaviour, discipline, buildings,
etc.) from the sixteenth century onwards formed an essential part of
royal interference in university affairs.

8 Statuti (note 4), 201.

” Kagan, Students and Society, 78, 146-7. See also chapter 2, notes 53-6.

8° L. Hajdukiewicz, ‘Travaux préparatifs a l’édition du Corpus Academicum Cracoviense’,

in M. Kulczykowski (ed.), L’Histoire des universités. Problémes et méthodes. Iére Ses-

sion scientifique internationale, Cracovie 13-14 mai 1978, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersy-

tetu Jagielloskiego DLXvu. Prace Historyczne, Z. 67 (Warsaw/Cracow, 1980), 87-8; L.

Hajdukiewicz, ‘Du Moyen Age aux Lumiéres’, CRE-Information, 69 (1985), 126-8.

F. D. Logan, ‘The First Royal Visitation of the English Universities 1535’, The English

Historical Review, 106: 421 (1991), 861-88; see also M. H. Curtis, Oxford and Cam-

bridge in Transition 1558-1642. An Essay on Changing Relations between the English

Universities and English Society (Oxford, 1959), 22-5, 32-4, 51-2, 167-8.

82 Javier Alejo Montes, La reforma (note 47), 24-5; M. Peset, ‘La monarchie absolue et
les universités espagnoles’, CRE-Information, 72 (1985), 82-9.

181

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

The functions of conservator of the privileges, and definitely of apos-
tolic conservator, waned in early modern times. Of course these func-
tions remained, but only in Catholic countries and, as in the Middle
Ages, prelates, abbots or bishops were in charge of this task. Members of
the university community could address complaints to them if episcopal
privileges were not observed.

In France, tasks not traditionally belonging to the conservateur des
privileges royaux were carried out by the lieutenants généraux des bail-
lages et sénéchaussées in early modern times. The only task left to them
was to ensure the observation of university privileges.*°

Nevertheless, in one way or another, the controllers of the quality and
the prices of food and lodgings survived the Middle Ages.** The tax-
atores and tractatores (Italy), almocatenes (Portugal), clerks of the
market (Oxford), etc. remained active in an urban context. These func-
tions could be performed by academics or citizens or the controllers
could be composed of ‘mixed commissions’, although there was an
increasing tendency to give this supervisory function to non-academic
persons who became more permanently involved in the management of
the university.

This involvement of citizens in the management of the university had
already existed for a long time in the northern Italian studia in the form
of riformatori dello studio. Their tasks were not inconsiderable since the
governing body was composed of students. The appointment of pro-
fessors, the organization of the curriculum, discipline and jurisdiction
came under their competence. From the sixteenth century they became
the real governors of the university, particularly in Bologna and Padua
where they were so from the early sixteenth century. In Catania the
eldest of the three riformatori was named protector of the studium
(protettore dello studio), a title conferred in Bologna upon the cardinal
legate, and in 1544 Pisa came under close outside supervision, with the
appointment of a new ducal official, the provveditore generale dello
studio.®

Universities outside Italy, such as Louvain, Cologne, Erfurt, Rostock,
Basle, came under a strong town influence from their foundation.
Already in the fifteenth century citizens were closely involved with the
management of the university. This trend continued in the following
centuries. As curatores, townsmen performed all kinds of governing

83 Villardi, ‘Pouvoir royal’ (note 37), 231.

84 See for more details volume 1, pp. 131-2.

8° Catalano, Catania (note 55), 51-2; C. Malagola, I rettori nell’antico studio e nella
moderna Universita di Bologna. Note storiche e catalogo (Bologna, 1887), 10-11; S.
De Bernardin, ‘La politica culturale della Repubblica di Venezia e l’Universita di Padova
nel XVII secolo’, Studi Veneziani, 16 (1974), 445; Wingens, ‘Studenti’ (note 22), 242;
Cascio Pratelli, L’universita e il principe (note 47), 128-31.

182

Management and resources

tasks; in Altdorf it was four citizens of the town of Nuremberg (founder
of the university) who did so. They were involved in the election of the
members of the Cancellariat, in the appointment of the rector and the
professors, they visited the institution regularly and they participated
officially in all the ceremonies and festivities.*° From their foundation,
Dutch universities had curators from outside added to their academic
governing councils. They were the key figures in the management and
the organization-of the university, and the interlocutors of the provincial
States, themselves the senior supervisors of the universities.

Finally, one external governor who developed university activities
needs to be mentioned, namely the count palatine or palsgrave (comes
palatinus). In the German Empire and in Italy during the late Middle
Ages and early modern times, this court official, whose function orig-
inated in the Carolingian Empire, continued to exercise certain juridical
prerogatives in the name of the emperor, such as the appointment of
notaries or the granting of noble titles and academic degrees, the last
being a privilege that the university shared with the pope and the
emperor. Normally, the candidate had to pass an examination by some
university professors, appointed for this purpose. Because of manifest
abuses, Pope Pius V (1566-72), who had his own palsgraves, the so-
called Lateranenses, abolished the practice of promotion by palsgraves,
but it was, nevertheless, continued by the emperor.*’ The doctors created
by the emperor, palsgrave, or eventually by another person who was
specially entitled to do so, were called doctores bullati. It goes without
saying that these doctores bullati - who should more rightly be called
doctores honoris causa — were on the whole not considered equals by
their colleagues, the doctores legitimae promoti, who had graduated in
the normal academic way.*

FINANCE

A constant element of the history of the universities, and certainly in
the Middle Ages and early modern times, is the lack of financial
resources. Certain universities or academic bodies, such as colleges, were
sometimes better off than others, but there is no doubt that many insti-

86 Will, Altdorf (note 47), 26-7.

8” See, for the religious background, chapter 10, p. 426.

88 A. von Wretschko, ‘Die Verleihung gelehrter Grade durch den Kaiser seit Karl IV.’, in
Festschrift Heinrich Brunner zum 70. Geburtstag dargebracht von Schiilern und
Verehrern (Weimar, 1910), 689-735; E. Horn, Die Disputationen und Promotionen an
den deutschen Universitaten (Leipzig, 1893), 103ff.; F. Gall, ‘Palatinatsverleihungen an
italienische Universitaten und gelehrte Gesellschaften, 1530-1653’, Mitteilungen des
Osterreichischen Staatsarchivs, 15 (1962), 93-113; E. Schmidt, Die Hofpfalzgrafen-
wiirde an der hessen-darmstddtischen Universitat Marburg/Giefen (Giessen, 1973).

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

tutions were hardly able to function decently, and always lived, as it
were, below the breadline. A generous donor could give temporary relief,
but as long as the university was not substantially and systematically
subsidized by some authority or other, survival remained difficult.

Certainly from the fifteenth century onwards the municipal and
territorial authorities increasingly tended to subsidize the university
directly out of city or state funds, but in exchange, naturally, for greater
control and authority. The fact that the university depended increasingly
on financial support from the authorities did not change its (mostly
precarious) financial situation: quite the opposite. In wartime, or periods
of economic and political crisis, these institutions were not the
primary concern of the sovereigns, who themselves were in constant
need of money. The only way to survive the bad times was to economize
even more drastically. During the great reforms in the eighteenth cen-
tury, efforts were made to incorporate all the possessions of the univer-
sity and to unite the revenues in one central fund, guaranteeing the
institution’s expenditure. The enlightened sovereigns, not unnaturally,
expected that rationalizing budget matters and centralizing income and
expenditure would lead to a more efficient institution and also to
savings.

It is not easy to write on the economic history of the university insti-
tutions, which may seem surprising since the financial and economic
sources have always been the most reliable. Inadequate sources are there-
fore not the main reason why there are so few thorough and comprehen-
sive studies on the history of the university economy. Happily, recent,
more voluminous monographs always devote a chapter to the financial
and economic situation. This paragraph is based on these contributions
but obviously we cannot mention them all.®’

In a comprehensive chapter on the nervus rerum of the University of
Rinteln an der Weser (1620), G. Schormann explains why it is so diffi-

89 Interesting information in Meiners, Verfassung (note 73), 48-99; Villardi, ‘Pouvoir
royal’ (note 37), 232; G. E. Aylmer, ‘The Economics and Finances of the Colleges and
University c. 1530-1640’, in History of Oxford III, 521-58; Fernandez Alvarez, Sala-
manca (note 47), 399-441; Méndez Sanz, La Universidad salmantina (note 63); J. Mich-
alewicz, ‘Les bases économiques de |’Université Jagellonne et leurs aspects sociaux’, in
M. Kulczykowski (ed.), L’Histoire des universités. Problemes et méthodes. Iére Session
scientifique internationale, Cracovie 13-14 mai 1978, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu
Jagielloskiego DLxvul. Prace Historyczne, Z. 67 (Warsaw/Cracow, 1980), 91-100; W.
Bingsohn, ‘Zur Wirschaftsgeschichte der Universitat GiefSen von der Griindung bis zum
Beginn des 18. Jahrhunderts’, in P. Moraw and V. Press (eds.), Academia Gissensis.
Beitrage zur dlteren Giessener Universitatsgeschichte (Marburg, 1982), 137-61; F.
Claeys Bouuaert, Contribution a l’histoire économique de |l’Université de Louvain,
Bibliothéque de la Revue d’Histoire Ecclésiastique, 32 (Louvain, 1959); E. Schubert,
Matérielle und organisatorische Grundlagen der Wurzburger Universitatsentwicklung
1582-1821 (Neustadt an der Aisch, 1973).

184

Management and resources

cult to get a real grasp of university bookkeeping.”® University revenues
were so diverse, the title to real estate with its taxes varied from estate
to estate and was regularly subject to modifications, properties were
transferred, the books were not always properly kept and sources were
often too cryptic to facilitate calculations. Moreover, we have to take
into consideration the fact that there were close connections between
the economic situation and the conduct of war, the modifications of
borders and the transition to another religion, which had their conse-
quences on the possession of goods and on the prebends, one of the
important sources of professorial salaries. For a university like Heidel-
berg, changing its denomination several times, the composition and evol-
ution of their real estate was a complicated matter?’ and G. Aylmer’s
description of the revenues of the University of Oxford also shows how
difficult it is to interpret the accounts.”

Revenues

The patrimony or fortune of each university and fully extended college
can be divided into two groups: the properties which they possessed in
complete ownership and of which they had free disposal, and the proper-
ties of which they only had the usufruct. At first the tithes and the clerical
prebends constituted the greatest part of this last group, but from the
seventeenth century onwards the sovereigns increasingly made it a rule
to give an important part of their real property in usufruct only. The
institution found its freedom of manoeuvre and security of existence
reduced through this form of subsidizing.

The original endowment in real property and chattels forms the basis
of the patrimony of a university or college. The real property could con-
sist of manors, lands, rectories, house properties, shops, etc. Many ben-
efactors made replenishing donations in cash, rents and other external
revenues. These donations were meant, for instance, to contribute to the
costs of the equipment and the maintenance of the buildings and goods.

Otherwise, the revenues of a university were made up of the students’
matriculation and graduation fees, fines, small individual gifts which
were often made for a specific purpose, the acquisition of books, of
educational material or of furniture.

°° Schormann, Academia Ernestina (note 47), 181ff.; see analogue remarks for Jena in
Steinmetz, Jena (note 15), 76-73, 123-4 and for the German universities in general
McClelland, State, Society and University, 88-93.

*! Wolgast, Heidelberg (note 47), 29ff. and Wolf, Heidelberger Universitatsangehorigen
(note 47), 7off.

Aylmer, ‘Economics’ (note 89), 550ff.; see also Sutherland, ‘Administration’ (note 47),
210-11.

185

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

Finally, many universities possessed a collection of valuable objects
such as jewellery, rugs, ornamental objects, etc., which were mainly
donations.

From the end of the Middle Ages onwards, the authorities granted
special subsidies as a form of direct and fixed financing. This was made
possible through the proceeds of a part, or the entire yield of, special
taxes for the university (salt taxes or gabelle in France, taxes on carriages
in the Republic of Venice, the manufacture of official documents, etc.).
In addition to this, the yields of penalties, tolls, the lottery, etc. could
go to the university. The assignment of certain clerical prebends via the
advowson as a form of salary for the faculty members also represented
an important and permanent source of income. At the end of the eight-
eenth century the University of Cracow had no fewer than 300 benefices
at its disposal.”

Some more concrete examples will help to give an insight into the
revenues of a university of early modern times. At the reopening in 1536
of the University of Copenhagen as a Lutheran institution, the following
revenues were provided: confiscated ecclesiastical properties and income
from clerical possessions, bishop’s tithes from two districts, a study tax
imposed on the churches of two dioceses, a royal subsidy of 200 dalers
a year and twenty-seven scholarships for poor students which were to
be supplied by abbeys and cathedral chapters. The university was also
exempt from taxation and other financial charges and had the right to
sell tax-free beer and wine to students and professors.”* The numerous
agreements concluded between the city of Louvain and the university to
prevent smuggling to the citizens show that this right could lead to
excesses. In 1640, the town calculated that the evasion of taxes ran into
thousands of guilders. The small profit the university made on the sale
of beer and wine was used to pay for professors, buildings and for the
maintenance of the library.” In other cities such as Utrecht where the
urban magistrate as founder of the university had greater power, tax
exemption was simply abolished in 1657. The city gave the rector an
annual allowance of 150 guilders as a compensation for the decreasing
number of students enrolled.”®

°3 M. Michalewiczowa, ‘Le bénéfice en tant qu’élément de la structure d’organisation de
Université Jagellonne’, in M. Kulczykowski (ed.), L’Histoire, 101-4.

4 S. E. Stybe, Copenhagen University. 500 Years of Science and Scholarship (Copenhagen,
1979), 36-7.

> Leuven (note 10), 67.

°° W. Frijhoff, ‘Hoger onderwijs als inzet van stedelijke naijver in de vroegmoderne tijd’,
in P. B. M. Blaas and J. van Herwaarden (eds.), Stedelijke naijver. De betekenis van
interstedelijke conflicten in de geschiedenis. Enige beschouwingen en case-studies (The
Hague, 1986), 110-11.

186

Management and resources

King Gustav II Adolph invested huge amounts of money in the Univer-
sity of Uppsala to raise it to the level of the other European universities.
This was part of a whole series of measures aimed at making Great
Sweden a modern, developed state. In 1620 the number of professor-
ships was increased by royal order; the non-prebended professors were
to receive a fixed salary. Twenty royal scholarships, and a year later
thirty, were to be paid out of the royal funds. Money was provided to
pay the salaries of a bursar and a secretary, for the extension of the
university library and for the extension and restoration of lodgings for
the students. In 1624 the king gave his private hereditary estates in Upp-
land and Vastmanland to the university ‘as its eternal, inalienable prop-
erty’. They included 264 complete freehold farms, half-shares in 74
farms and quarter-shares in 40 farms in these two provinces, as well
as flour-mills and church tithes from eight parishes in Halsingland and
Vastmanland with an annual receipt of 14,000 riksdalers. These rev-
enues sufficed to pay all salaries and other current expenditure and still
left an annual surplus. The bursar of the university was responsible for
the management and the administration of the estates. This gift, unique
for its size in university history, made the University of Uppsala a
flourishing institution for more than two centuries. The other Swedish
universities were also entirely subsidized by the crown, but on a different
basis. They enjoyed the revenues from certain real properties without,
however, becoming the owners of these properties, and they enjoyed
certain tax revenues. There were also, of course, the revenues from
matriculation and promotion fees and the proceeds of penalties.

Since in both Abo and Dorpat properties were managed by the crown
and not the university itself, the fiscus rectoralis had little redress against
incomplete payment of the amounts due, something which happened
more than once, particularly in the reign of Queen Christina (1632-89),
to the fury of the professors, whose salaries could not be paid.’

Expenditure

Most of the revenues in the form of donations were set apart for specific
purposes (scholarships, acquisition of certain real properties or the con-
struction of a building, named salaries, etc.). Only towards the end of
the ancien régime did the universities, especially those managed by the
authorities, start to draft more modern budgets and their expenditure
became less ‘casuistic’.

*7 Lindroth, Uppsala (note 14), 36-40; see also Klinge, Helsinki (note 44), 24-33, 40-7,
135-44; Siilivask, Tartu (note 74), 27-8, 39-40.

187

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

To begin with, the cost of the acquisition, transformation and resto-
ration of university buildings and their household effects had to be met
by the universities themselves. For most of the universities this was —
temporarily or permanently — virtually impossible. It was wholly imposs-
ible in the course of the seventeenth and eighteenth century when they
felt obliged to acquire books and instruments and to provide the
requisite housing for them. Nor was the cost of lighting and heating
negligible.

The university of early modern times, unlike its medieval predecessor,
spent most of its budget on the salaries of the professors, and, to a lesser
extent, on those of the officials. The clerical prebends that were tied
to the professorships remained an important method of payment for
theologians and artists. Furthermore, salaries were paid from special rev-
enues, supplied by the central, regional or municipal authorities. The
regius professorships, established mainly in the sixteenth century,
afforded a certain financial stability to their owners. Other individuals
too provided funds for the establishment of a professorship. This was
the case with Thomas Linacre (c. 1460-1524) and Sir Henry Savile
(1549-1622) in Oxford (for medicine, geometry and astronomy,
respectively) or Chancellor Johan Skytte in 1622 (for politics and
rhetoric) and Bishop Andreas Kalsenius in 1754 (for polemic theology)
in Uppsala. In Salamanca a distinction was even drawn between the
catedraticos de propriedad and the catedrdticos de regencia. The income
from certain property was allocated to the former whilst the latter
depended on less fixed, more temporary ways of payment.”

A third important item of expenditure consisted of the scholarships
for students, which were almost exclusively paid from donations made
especially for this purpose. The upkeep of the university student resi-
dences, which did not have any patrimony of their own at their disposal,
fell within the same category.

One item of expenditure that became more and more important was
the salaries of the academic officials and the fees paid to the external
governors. Academic ceremonies, meetings, dinners and activities that
can be considered as belonging to the domain of public relations cost
quite a large sum of money.

In all crafts or other corporations, special funds were provided for
widows, orphans and sick members of the corporation. Similar organiza-
tions existed at the universities too. These became more institutionalized
in the eighteenth century, in Halle for instance, where, on the foundation
of the Academia Fredericiana in 1693, a widows’ pension fund

°8 See chapter 5, pp. 232-9; Lindroth, Uppsala (note 14), 37-8, 105; Méndez Sanz, La
Universidad salmantina (note 63), 15.

188

Management and resources

(Witwen-Casse) was provided. In 1801, when Meiners wrote, this cash
was still supplied by the income from the rent of the university phar-
macy, by an annual contribution from members of the university and
by the investment of revenues.”

Méndez Sanz’s study of Salamanca gives us a clear picture of univer-
sity expenditure in the eighteenth century. Salaries and compensations
accounted for 38.5 per cent of all expenditure; 4.3 to 9.1 per cent was
spent on running costs (administration, ceremonies, meals); 2.0 to 4.2
per cent on the maintenance of the chapel and worship. The acquisition
of materials and the maintenance of the buildings represented 1.8 to 7.9
per cent of expenditure; they paid 1.3 to 3.2 per cent for storage of the
tithes and to cover the costs of the estate management; 1.5 to 2.9 per
cent was spent on clerical subsidies (to compensate for the former cleri-
cal tithes). The students’ hospital took 0.9 to 1.2 per cent of expenditure,
O.I tO O per cent was spent on alms and then there was still a small
amount for miscellanea (lawsuits, commissions, etc.).'°°

In general, the financial situation of the colleges was rosier than that
of the university. Their founders and later benefactors endowed them
richly. Efficient management made it possible to increase the basic patri-
mony considerably. However, some colleges found themselves in serious
difficulties for political or economic reasons. The universities were also
easily affected by changes in the economic situation: they suffered from
bad investments, monetary devaluations and especially from decreasing
revenues from rents and interest. Inefficient and incompetent manage-
ment of the patrimony often aggravated the already difficult financial
situation. Most of the universities, like the colleges, had to contend with
this in the course of their history. For the authorities this provided a
welcome occasion to interfere, to keep an audit and to take measures
that continuously eroded the autonomy of the institution.

In this connection it is interesting to read C. Meiners’s opinion dating
from 1801.'”' According to him, the budget of the universities in Europe
was managed by different authorities. Some universities opted for finan-
cial officials, chosen from their own academic corps, others preferred
leaving financial matters to officials appointed for this purpose by their
own government. According to Meiners, himself a professor in Got-
tingen, university funds were kept in a better and more efficient way by
professional functionaries accountable to the authorities. He said that
in Italy and in some other countries — which he does not name — univer-
sities found themselves in serious financial difficulties, because of incom-
petent and careless management by professors. Self-management of

”? Meiners, Verfassung (note 73), 89-95.

10° Méndez Sanz, La Universidad salmantina (note 63), 52-69.
10! Meiners, Verfassung (note 73), 97-9.

189

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

finances, in Meiners’s opinion, was no guarantee against losing money,
as recent developments in France showed; the French revolutionaries
confiscated all the cash belonging to clerical institutions and universities.

ACADEMIC BUILDINGS

The buildings in towns like Oxford and Cambridge, Louvain and Salam-
anca can still give the impression that the colleges dominated the univer-
sity. For collegiate universities this is certainly true; there were not many
buildings that belonged to the university in general. Often a college pro-
vided the main building of the university; it housed the rector’s residence
and his administration, and assemblies, promotions and other cel-
ebrations also took place there. This was the case in Rome (Sapienza),
Paris (Sorbonne), Cracow (Collegium Maius), Prague (Collegium
Carolinum) and Rostock (Collegium Maius and Collegium Minus). The
last three named were masters’ colleges. These colleges themselves gave
their names to the entire university.'°* Unlike the universities, colleges
already had their typical architectural structure in the Middle Ages.
Although they were all rebuilt after 1500, some of them, such as Merton
College or New College in Oxford and the Collegio di Spagna in Bol-
ogna still give a good impression of what they originally looked like.
The increase in the number of students, and especially of rich, paying
students, helped to create a need for bigger and more luxurious build-
ings. The colleges newly built in early modern times in Oxford and Cam-
bridge, and in Dublin and the university towns in the north of Italy
too, followed quite slavishly the pattern of their medieval predecessors.
Everywhere we find quadrangles, connected by porches, halls, chapels,
libraries, clocks and lodgings for the head of the college. The construc-
tion of a new Collegium Maius in Cracow, after the fire in 1493, was
the beginning of a continental variety of college construction. The quad-
rangular construction was truncated and both roof structure and other
architectural elements differed from the medieval model. The newly built
Protestant academies of Geneva (1559-60), Altdorf (1571-83) and Lau-
sanne (1579-87) very closely followed the architectural model of the
Collegium Maius of Cracow. They announced a new Protestant architec-
tural style in educational buildings.'®* In Italy college architecture had

102 J. Fletcher, ‘The History of Academic Colleges: Problems and Prospects’, in I collegi
universitari, 15-16; J. Wyrozumski, ‘Les colléges et les internats de |’Université Jagel-
lonne aux XVe et XVIe siécles’, in I collegi universitari, 135-7; M. Svatos and J. Hav-
ranek, ‘University Colleges at Prague from the Fourteenth to the Eighteenth Centuries’,
in I collegi universitari, 151, 154.

K. Estreicher, Collegium Maius. Stammsitz der Jagellonischen Universitat Krakau
(Warsaw, 1974); B. Pradervand-Amiet, ‘L’ancienne académie et |’architecture scolaire
du XVIe siécle’, in De l’académie a l’Université de Lausanne 1537-1987. 450 ans
d’histoire (Lausanne, 1987), 67-73.

103

190

Management and resources

developed a new style under prelates Carlo and Federico Borromeo,
namely that of majestic palaces with inner courts. They contained
elements of a regular monastery, as well as elements of a university col-
lege and a Renaissance or baroque palace. Great efforts were made to
house all functions in one building or in a united complex of buildings.
They reflected the changing social composition and life style of the stud-
ents and the role which state and church assigned to themselves in the
matter of higher education. The Jesuit colleges built in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries especially occupied a dominant place in town.
A good example is the sixteenth-century Academy in Vilnius or the sev-
enteenth-century Clementinum in Prague, which, with the exception of
Hradcany Castle, was the biggest building in the city. Although one
cannot properly speak of a real Jesuit style, a certain uniformity did exist
in the college buildings of the Society of Jesus. The plans of new build-
ings always had to be approved by the general-superior in Rome. In
concept and style they corresponded to the other academic buildings
dating from the time of the Counter-Reformation as described above.”

Leaving aside the typical college style, there was no typical university
architectural type in the Middle Ages.'°° According to the needs and
means existing buildings were adapted and from the fifteenth century
onwards new ones were built.'’° In the sixteenth century in Protestant
countries, many new foundations, like older ones, acquired clerical
buildings disused because of the Reformation. Towns also gave premises
for the use of the new universities. They adapted these buildings as best
they could. Insufficient financial resources meant that the housing was
often below standard. There were other problems too, to judge by the
letter written in 1537 by Johan Bugenhagen, the first rector of the new
Lutheran University of Copenhagen, to King Christian III:

We from the University have crept with our lectures into the church; wind
and tempest constrain us to do this. Both mayors blame the glazier. The
carpenters are still working on the benches; to me this is a strange way
to work, but is costly. Hence we have not yet been able to commence all
the lectures, and the disputations have not begun... If therefore, Your
Majesty desires to build more of the University, which is sorely needed,
a new way must be found; workmen in this land need someone who can

drive them.’
14 M. Kiene, ‘Die Erneuerung der italienischen Universitatsarchitektur unter Carlo und
Federico Borromeo’, Architectura. Zeitschrift fiir Geschichte der Baukunst (1988),
123-68; K. Riickbrod, Universitat und Kollegium. Baugeschichte und Bautypen
(Darmstadt, 1977), passim; R. A. Miiller, The Colleges of the “‘Societas Jesu’’ in the
German Empire, in I collegi universitari, 178-9; Svatos’ and Havranek, ‘University
Colleges’ (note 102), 152-3.
M. Kiene, ‘Die Grundlagen der europdischen Universitatsbaukunst’, Zeitschrift fiir
Kunstgeschichte, 46:1 (1983), 63-114.
106 See volume I, pp. 136-8; Riickbrod, Universitat und Kollegium (note 104), 133ff., 187.
107 Stybe, Copenhagen (note 94), 35-6.

105

I9IL

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

The different university bodies acquired buildings according to their
needs and means. This was no easy matter. The institutions were
installed inside the city walls, and, like the trades, they were as far as
possible grouped together in the same street or quarter. However, there
was little room for expansion or major constructions inside the city
walls'®® and in most cases the financial means for such expansion were
also lacking. Moreover, as has already been said, there were no detailed
models of a functional academic architecture.

In early modern times faculties and central university administrations
increasingly wanted to have at their disposal distinct and specially con-
structed buildings in which their various functions, education and
research (especially lecture rooms and libraries), administration, official
ceremonies and lodgings could be more adequately carried out.
Especially in medical education a growing need was felt to erect build-
ings and create other facilities for specific purposes, such as anatomical,
physical and chemical theatres or laboratories, botanic gardens and
astronomical observatories, but this need was only slowly met.'””

As the universities in northern Italy, closely followed by the uni-
versities in the Northern Netherlands, strongly emphasized practice,
technology and experiment, they designed a special infrastructure for
this purpose. The first botanic gardens were created in Padua and Pisa
in 1544 and in Bologna in 1567. The students were introduced there to
botany and medicinal plants. Universities north of the Alps soon fol-
lowed the example; a botanical garden was created in Leipzig in 1580,
in Leiden in 1587, in Basle in 1588 and in Heidelberg in 1593.

In spite of its long tradition and famous anatomy professors, Padua’s
first independent theatrum anatomicum was only built in 1594/5 by Ger-
olamo Fabrizi da Acquapendente (1537-1619). Alumni of these north-
ern Italian studia transferred their pedagogical system to the Dutch
Republic.’’? But there was more to it. The anatomical theatres in Hol-
land, and more specifically those of Leiden (1597), Delft (1614) and
Amsterdam (1619), not only had an educational function, but they can
be considered cultural centres too. In addition to a scientific library and
a museum of ‘curiosities’ (zaturalia and artificialia), an anatomical thea-
tre also had a museum with works of art. The tuition of surgeons and
midwives took place in a specially provided room in the building. The
botanic garden was nearby. It was the meeting place of scholars, ‘ama-
teurs’ and artists who inspired and stimulated each other. The gardens

108 Riickbrod, Universitat und Kollegium (note 104), 37.

10? See chapter 14, pp. 609-12.

110 H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Italian and Dutch Universities in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth
Centuries’, in C. S. Maffioli and L. C. Palm (eds.), Italian Scientists in the Low Count-
ries in the XVIIth and XVIIIth Centuries (Amsterdam, 1989), 37-8.

I92

Management and resources

were open to the public. In this way these theatres fulfilled the role
played in other countries by scientific academies and societies.’'’ In
France only the University of Montpellier, one of the leading centres for
medical education in Europe, had a decent infrastructure for medical
students at its disposal. In 1566 it received its own anatomical theatre —
the first in France, but it still had no detached stone building - and in
1593 its jardin des plantes. In the seventeenth or even only in the eight-
eenth century, other institutions followed very slowly or not at all. The
Parisian alma mater never even had its own botanical garden, the stud-
ents could visit the Jardin du Roi, and there was no theatre until 1617.'"*
As for many other French universities, Bordeaux University had to rely
on the Académie royale, founded in 1712, for library and other scientific
and educational facilities.’

For clinical tuition, the professors in medicine and their students
turned to the local hospitals. There existed agreements between the
medical faculty, the collegia medica, and the urban hospitals. The uni-
versity itself did not offer the infrastructure needed. The first university
hospital worthy of the name was probably the nosocomium academicum
(teaching hospital), with forty beds, founded specially for educational
purposes in 1798 by the University of Leiden.'**

Because of these changes in academic building, universities, from the
the late sixteenth, but especially in the seventeenth and eighteenth cen-
turies, began to put their stamp on the urban character of towns (El
Patio de las Escuelas in Salamanca, Paco das Escolas in Coimbra, the
Quartier Latin in Paris, Alte Universitat in Vienna and Wiirzburg,
Schools Quadrangle and the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford).'” Indeed,
like the colleges, official academic buildings also underwent a metamor-
phosis from the late sixteenth century onwards. Baroque display and
prestige became important elements of rebuilt or new university build-
ings. The greatest efforts were made to house all functions within one
building or complex. They housed classrooms, as well as rooms for

"1 J. Rupp, ‘Theatra Anatomica. Culturele centra in het Nederland van de zeventiende
eeuw’, in J. Kloek and W. W. Mijnhardt (eds.), De productie, distributie en consumptie
van cultuur (Amsterdam, 1991), 13-36; see also chapter 11.

Brockliss, French Higher Education, 397-8.

L. Desgraves, ‘Bordeaux au XVIIle siécle’, in C. Jolly (ed.), Histoire des bibliothéques
francaises, vol. 11: Les Bibliothéques de l’ancien régime, 1530-1789 (Paris, 1988),
477-87.

H. Beukers, ‘Clinical Teaching in Leiden from its Beginning until the End of the 18th
Century’, Clio medica, 21 (1988), 139-52; V.-P. Comiti, ‘Le développement de la cli-
nique en Europe au XVIlle siécle’, in C. Bruneel and P. Servais (eds.), La Formation
du médecin: des Lumiéres au laboratoire, Travaux de la Faculté de Philosophie et
Lettres de |’Université Catholique de Louvain, 37 (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1989), 5-12.
See the descriptions in Riickbrod, Universitat und Kollegium (note 104), 103-32 and
further 142-61; on the function of the university in the city see Frijhoff, ‘Hoger onder-
wijs’ (note 96), 92¢f.

112
113

114

115

193

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

examinations and promotions, the administration and the library. A fine
example is the Palazzo dell’ Archiginnasio in Bologna, originally the Pal-
azzo delle Scuole Nuove and built in 1562-3; the university was housed
there until 1803. The monumental building contained a chapel and ten
halls functioning as classrooms and library. The two bigger, more
ornamented halls (the aula magna belonging to the faculty of arts and
medicine and the other for law) were used for important lectures, exam-
inations and proclamations as well as other official ceremonies. In 1637
a theatrum anatomicum was constructed in the building on the Padua
and Pisa model. In the eighteenth century they searched for new sites to
house, inter alia, natural scientific collections. Three buildings in the via
Zamboni were converted into the Istituto delle Scienze.'’® The university
buildings of the eighteenth century were no longer inspired by the cor-
porate life of teachers and students. The temples or palaces of science
and education had to reflect the power of state and church and express
the practical and utilitarian character of the transfer of knowledge and
professional education. This was why a great deal of attention was paid
to the technical infrastructure.'’’ At Salamanca they tried to fit the new
conceptions in the existing infrastructure. The newly built escuelas men-
ores had to create a spatial unity between the existing escuelas mayores
and the colegios.''®

All these changes did not alter the fact that up to the nineteenth cen-
tury many universities had to cope with an inadequate infrastructure
and be content with ad hoc solutions. The University of Cologne
provides a fine example. At the end of the fifteenth century two com-
plexes were built, one for the faculty of law, the other one for the artists
and also the few medical students. These buildings too were multifunc-
tional with rooms for students, classrooms, a library and an aula for
ceremonies. In the course of the centuries rebuilding continued. It was
only in the eighteenth century that the faculty of medicine had at its
disposal a theatrum anatomicum (1715) and a botanic garden (1728).'”
Duisburg, where in 1654 a gymnasium academicum was converted into
a university, also gives a good impression of the housing of a small
university in existing buildings. Two years after its foundation the con-

"6 C. Colitta, Il Palazzo dell’Archiginnasio e l’Antico Studio Bolognese, 2nd edn (Bologna,
1980).

"7 Riickbrod, Universitat und Kollegium (note 104), 142-61, based on K. Riickbrod, ‘Die
Leitbilder der Universitaten in der geschichtlichen Entwicklung’, Information. Hg. Zen-
tralarchiv fiir Hochschulbau, 8:31 (1975), 15-28; see the many sketches and illus-
trations of Scandinavian university buildings of the eighteenth century in Klinge, Hel-
sinki (note 44), 254-89.

18 J. Alvarez Villar, The University of Salamanca. Art and Traditions, Acta Salmanticen-
sia, History of the University, 32 (Salamanca, 1980), 35-125.

19 G,. Binder and G. Miiller, Die Bauten der Universitat zu Kéln (Cologne, 1988), 7-13.

194

Management and resources

version of the Catharina convent and church into a university was
started. The ground floor of the church was transformed into a large
hall (aula) with the library adjacent. The upper constructed storey
accommodated the archives; the prison was installed under the roof. The
professors were housed in the buildings of the convent itself, as was the
anatomical theatre, the porter’s and gardener’s lodgings and a gym-
nasium. A chemistry laboratory was installed in the crypt. The convent’s
garden offered space for a botanic garden with glasshouses. The anatom-
ical theatre and the laboratory were a veritable nuisance to the neigh-
bours and no solution to this had been found by the time the university
closed down in 1818. All the buildings were demolished in the course
of the nineteenth century.’”° The monastery of the Brothers of the Cross
in Franeker, also converted into a university after its foundation in 1584,
had more or less the same plan.'*' Even at the end of the seventeenth
century, a ‘Reformed’ university like Halle (1693) did not have proper
buildings at its disposal. Most of the lectures were given and examin-
ations taken in the teachers’ private houses. For public lectures the uni-
versity had to rent the city weigh-house and could only do so when
no civil ceremonies or theatrical performances took place. In 1731 the
university could use the bakery for its administrative duties. An anatom-
ical theatre was built at the expense of Professor Coschwitz in 1727
and it was transferred from one anatomy professor to another for a
charge.'**

Only from the seventeenth century onwards were university libraries
(not college libraries) built as independent buildings with a specific func-
tion. Sometimes they were treasures of architecture and decoration, as
can be seen from the existing libraries such as in Oxford (Bodley’s
Library), Dublin (Long Room in Trinity College), Salamanca and
Coimbra.

LIBRARIES, ARCHIVES AND UNIVERSITY PRESSES

In the Middle Ages libraries were established primarily by the colleges,
to a lesser extent by the nations, followed by the faculties. Nearly all
university libraries date from early modern times. Indeed, from the six-
teenth century onwards nearly every university that was founded had a
public library. J. Petzholdt’s synopsis of German libraries published in

0 G. Born and F. Kopatschek, Die alte Universitat Duisburg 1655-1818 (Duisburg,
1992), 32.

21 See note 16.

22 G. Mende (ed.), 450 Jahre Martin Luther Universitat Halle- Wittenberg , vol. 11: Halle,
1694-1817, Halle-Wittenberg, 1817-1945 (Wittenberg/Halle, 1952), 490; W.
Schrader, Geschichte der Friedrichs-Universitat zu Halle, vol. 1 (Berlin, 1894), 89-90.

195

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

1853” gives a good impression of the way in which the university
libraries were founded in the Holy Roman Empire. The synopsis sug-
gests, however, that it was only in the eighteenth century that most
libraries started being of some size and significance, with thousands of
books. In the towns in the Reformation countries, e.g. in Leipzig, Basle
and Marburg, the collections of the disused monasteries often consti-
tuted the basis for the university library. This, of course, was also the
case outside the German Empire, as in Groningen, Utrecht and Stras-
burg. The Viennese University library — or whatever passed for such —
only became significant when Empress Maria Theresia set aside the
library of the suppressed Order of Jesuits for the university in 1775.'**

Quite often the impetus to found a main library was given by the
sovereign, who made a donation for the purpose to a new or an already
existing university. The University of Erfurt, founded in 1379, had its
first library in 1510. The library only became of some importance in
1717 when Count Ph. W. von Boineburg, stadtholder of Erfurt, donated
his library — one of the richest private collections at the time — together
with the sum of 3,000 guilders to the university. The money was meant
to pay a librarian and to complete the collection of books.’** The public
library in Copenhagen only developed into a real scientific library in
1605, after the king of Denmark donated his own library to the univer-
sity, and in Sweden the foundation of the library of Uppsala started with
a huge donation from King Gustav II Adolph in the 1620s.'*° With a
few exceptions, French university and faculty libraries were of little sig-
nificance before the French Revolution. Benefactors were more interested
in founding or supplying private libraries and libraries of religious orders
than those of small and not very flourishing universities, often possessing
no more than a few dozen books. In 1789 only four (Caen, Douai, Stras-
burg and Paris) of the twenty-two existing universities had a central
university library. In most cases a college, nation or faculty library was
used as a general library.'*’

However, right up to the eighteenth century nearly all university
libraries remained small and of little importance, the public library in
Oxford, founded in 1602 by Thomas Bodley, being something of an
exception. The rich collection of books and the hundreds of manuscripts

123 J. Petzholdt, Handbuch Deutscher Bibliotheken (Halle, 1853).

124 W. Pongratz, ‘Geschichte der Universitatsbibliothek’, in Studien zur Geschichte der
Universitat Wien, vol. 1 (Graz/Cologne, 1965), 22f.

125 Petzholdt, Handbuch (note 123), 116-17.

126 J. Vallinkoski, The History of the University Library at Turku, vol. 1: 1640-1722
(Helsinki, 1948), 46; Lindroth, Uppsala (note 14), 51-2, 60-4.

127 J. Artier, ‘Les bibliothéques des universités et de leurs colléges’, in Jolly (ed.), Biblio-
théques francaises (note 113), 45-6.

196

Management and resources

in the Bodleian attracted readers from all over Europe.'*® The college
and faculty libraries, or the libraries of the regular orders (especially of
the Jesuits) that had settled in the university towns, were comparatively
much richer. This is all closely connected with the manner of acquisition.
In the Middle Ages libraries were almost exclusively supplied by
donations and with the yields from penalties and this was the case until
the eighteenth century. Petzholdt, quoted above, gives numerous
examples on this subject.

Indeed, under the influence of the ‘new learning’ the need for books
increased, but more often the means were lacking. Only rich colleges
like those in Oxford, Cambridge, Louvain and Paris could afford to
acquire books themselves more systematically. The numerous preserved
inventories of the college libraries in Oxbridge or Paris give interesting
information on the policy of acquisition and the choice of books.'*? The
university institutions, however, proved inventive, or rather, they
applied a frequently used system, the ‘compulsory’ donation. The library
of the German nation of Orléans, founded in 1566 by Obertus Giphan-
ius, started its activities with one collection; afterwards each member,
when departing, would have to donate a book to the nation.'”® In order
to supply the newly founded library of Halle, established in 1693, the
statutes of the faculties of law and philosophy stipulated in 1694 that
each doctorandus had to donate a book to the value of one florin (or
three Taler) to the university library.’?’ Even earlier the tradition had
grown at many German universities of each professor donating a copy
of his own publications to the library.'*?

Another way of obtaining money was by the introduction of a fee for
the users. This decision, taken in 1780 in Oxford, had an immediate,
positive effect on the purchase of books for the Bodleian Library. In its
first years of existence this library did not have any financial difficulties.
In the beginning the library did not depend on university subsidies,
thanks to the ample endowments of its founder, Thomas Bodley (1545-

28 J. Philip, The Bodleian Library in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, The Lyell
Lectures (Oxford, 1980-1), 35-6.

129 N. R. Ker, ‘The Provision of Books’, in History of Oxford III, 441-77; R. Taton (ed.),
Enseignement et diffusion des sciences en France au XVIIle siécle, Histoire de la Pensée,
9 (Paris, 1964; reprint 1986), 159-62.

13°C. L. Heesakkers, ‘Le procurateur Obertus Giphanius (5 novembre 1566 — 4 janvier
1567)’, in R. Feenstra and C. M. Ridderikhoff (eds.), Etudes néerlandaises de droit et
d’histoire présentées a l'Université d’Orléans pour le 750e anniversaire des enseigne-
ments juridiques, special issue of Bulletin de la Société archéologique et historique de
l’Orléanais, Ns, vol. IX, 68 (1985), 133-5.

51 J. Dietze (ed.), 275 Jahre Universitats- und Landesbibliothek in Halle (Saale). Entwick-
lung und Leistung einer Bibliothek (Halle, 1971), 20.

132 In Basle 1591, Jena 1592, Tiibingen 1604, Vienna 1608, see Vallinkoski, Turku (note
126), 45; Steinmetz, Jena (note 15), 50.

197

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

1613). As a consequence of the civil wars in the middle of the seven-
teenth century and of unreimbursed debts the ‘Publique Library’ was no
longer capable of keeping up to date. As a temporary solution the uni-
versity itself offered succour, but at the beginning of the eighteenth cen-
tury the financial situation had declined so much that in 1701 Bodley’s
librarian, Thomas Hyde, resigned because he was no longer able to
acquire books. One of his problems was the lapsing in 1695 of the press
licensing acts of 1662 and subsequently, and the collapse of the agree-
ment of 1610 between the Stationers’ Company and the Bodleian
Library by which the Library was to receive a free copy of every book
entered in the Stationers’ registers. The situation improved with the
introduction of the Copyright Act of 1709, although it is estimated that
in the eighteenth century only some tro per cent of English publications
were registered and deposited.!*?

This system of legal deposit came into existence in France under
Francis I (1537) for the benefit of the Royal Library. The system was
quickly taken over by other princes. The Press Licensing Act of 1662 in
England achieved not only the enrichment of the Royal Library with
every new publication, but also that of the university libraries of Oxford
and Cambridge.

The Copyright Act of 1709 increased the compulsory number of
books to be deposited to nine; the Scottish university libraries also now
came within the law. In other countries, too, the deposit of books in
the university libraries was compulsory. The Prussian princes had issued
ordinances in that respect for the Royal Library of Berlin and the univer-
sity libraries of Frankfurt (Oder), K6nigsberg and Halle. The authorities
judged that the university presses, as members of the university com-
munity, had the duty to donate a copy of each book printed on their
presses. In practice these donations only rarely took place.’** Similarly,
the booksellers who also acted as publishers were supposed to donate
a free copy of their publications to the university.’*> The fact that most
of the libraries in the ancien régime did not practise a systematic acquli-
sition policy and depended on donations resulted in fairly heterogeneous
book collections. Only during the early Renaissance were more system-
atic ideas on the ‘ideal library’ developed, and library science grew,
thanks to people such as Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646-1716),
librarian in Hanover and Wolfenbiittel, and Peter Lambeck (1628-80),

3]. G. Philip, ‘Libraries and the University Press’, in History of Oxford V, 725, 742.

134 See, for registration and deposit, R. C. B. Partridge, The History of the Legal Deposit
of Books throughout the British Empire (London, 1938).

5 For Heidelberg: Wolf, Heidelberger Universitatsangehérigen (note 47), 53—60; for Jena:
Steinmetz, Jena (note 15), 49; for Prague: Petzholdt, Handbuch (note 123), 307; for
Halle: Dietze (ed.), Halle (note 131), 22.

TGs

Management and resources

librarian of the Viennese Court Library. They pleaded for the systematic
acquisition of books; for this purpose money had to be made available.
The stock had to be made accessible through catalogues and readers had
to be made more comfortable by means of longer and better opening
hours and adequate lighting, heating and furniture.'** In the course of
the eighteenth century many university libraries applied this concept par-
tially or completely. The Frankfurt (Oder) university library, founded
together with the university in 1506, was given a facelift under the
inspiring leadership of Johann Christoph Beckman (1641-1717). Before
that time it would have been more accurate to call it a book collection
rather than a real library.’°’ The libraries of Erfurt, Freiburg and Ros-
tock attained a certain quality only in the eighteenth century and the
main library in Louvain, founded in 1627, only took on real importance
in the middle of the eighteenth century. Corneille Francois de Nelis
(1736-98) systematically purchased books at every important auction
in Europe. Until then the college libraries had the task of satisfying the
needs of students and teachers.'*® The university library of Gottingen
(founded together with the university in 1733) could stand as a model
in the eighteenth century thanks to the financial and moral support of
the authorities of the electorate of Hanover, and had at its disposal large
amounts of money for the acquisition of books, extensive and diversified
catalogues, enough staff and, as a result, ample opening hours. Goethe
especially praised the good service for users.'*

The quality of the libraries also strongly depended on their librarians.
The function of the librarian was mostly performed by a professor or
fellow or even a graduate student as a second job. The devotion and
enthusiasm of the person involved therefore determined the manage-
ment. Apparently in Leiden they had understood this very well. After
three failed efforts to organize a public library in the university founded
in 1575, in 1585 they appointed Janus Dousa (1545-1604), the dynamic
scholar and president of the Board of Curators and an acquaintance of
Thomas Bodley, as the librarian of a library that was still embryonic. It
would take the library, housed in the former beguinage chapel, until
1595 to become operational. Thanks to important donations and the
systematic acquisition policy of librarians who were of high scientific
standing, the Leiden library grew to be one of the major scientific

36 D, Schmidmaier, Die Entstehung der biirgerlichen Bibliothekswissenschaft (Freiburg
im Breisgau, 1974), 72-7; for France: C. Jolly, ‘Batiments, mobilier, décors’, in Jolly
(ed.), Bibliothéques francaises (note 113), 360-71.

7 D. Schmidmaier, ‘Gedanken zu einer Bibliotheksgeschichte der Universitat Frankfurt
(Oder)’, in Die Oder-Universitat Frankfurt. Beitrage zu ihrer Geschichte (Weimar,
1983).

88 Leuven (note 10), 65-7.

139 Dietze (ed.), Halle (note 131), 32.

199

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

libraries.'*° The history of the Franeker library from 1626 to 1644 also
shows that a university library only really became viable when persons
of influence took a personal interest in it. Curator Johannes Saeckma
(1572-1636) appointed competent book-lovers as librarians and prac-
tised a conscious acquisition policy with finance partly coming from
advances, donations and occasional subsidies from the authorities.'*’ But
all in all one can state that only in the second half of the seventeenth
and in the eighteenth century did the bigger libraries start employing
more professional library-keepers and paying them properly.'** In Trin-
ity College Dublin, it was not until the middle of the twentieth century
that a full-time professional librarian was appointed.'** The librarians
were assisted by amanuenses, persons who carried out manual
operations. ‘**

The purchase of so many books eventually caused space problems.
One solution was found in the second half of the sixteenth century when
books were no longer placed horizontally and chained on lectern desks
and kept in chests, but were placed vertically by using a horizontal shelv-
ing system. In a first phase two or more shelves were fitted above the
lectern (stall-system). Well-known university examples of this were to
be found in Oxford (Duke Humfrey’s Library in the Bodleian, Merton
College and Corpus Christi College) and in Dublin (Long Room, Trinity
College). In the meantime, however, on the Continent, in the course of
the sixteenth century, they had switched to the wall-system (Saal
System): in a big hall, high bookcases were installed against the walls
(Escorial in 1567 and the Vatican; the oldest example in England is
Arts End in Duke Humfrey’s Library, Bodleian, Oxford). Very soon the
problem of height was tackled by the construction of a gallery half-way
up the walls of bookcases. When the bookcases were placed transversely,
shelves were accessible on three sides. It was a system frequently used
in the big French (non-university) libraries in the late seventeenth and
eighteenth century. Christopher Wren improved the lighting of the
library by providing high windows above the bookcases (Trinity College

4° E. Hulsoff Pol, ‘The Library’, in T. H. Lunsingh Scheurleer and G. H. M. Posthumus
Meyjes (eds.), Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century. An Exchange of Learning
(Leiden, 1975), 394-459.

4) M. H. H. Engels, ‘De Franeker academiebibliotheek 1626-1644’, in Jensma, Franeker
(note 16), 161-76.

#2 Examples in: Sutherland, ‘Administration’ (note 47), 207; J. C. T. Oates, Cambridge
University Library. A History: from the Beginnings to the Copyright Act of Queen
Anne (Cambridge, 1986), 119, 295; M. Caillet, ‘Les bibliothécaires’, in Jolly (ed.),
Bibliothéques frangaises (note 113), 372-90 and Artier, ‘Les bibliothéques des universi-
tés’ (note 113), 46-7.

3 P. Fox (ed.), Treasures of the Library, Trinity College Dublin (Dublin, 1986), 5.

4 Dietze (ed.), Halle (note 131), 23-6; Vallinkoski, Turku (note 126), 45.

200

Management and resources

Cambridge, source of inspiration for the Long Room of Trinity College
Dublin). In the course of the seventeenth century the habit of chaining
books disappeared, but here and there chains were still used until well
into the eighteenth century.'* Since, as in our time, the disappearance
of books was an insoluble problem,'*® most of the books could not be
lent out. An exception was made for the books that were used during
lectures. According to the place and the time the librarians of college
and university libraries allowed professors to take certain copies with
them to their rooms but this was not a regular procedure. Incidentally,
most of these libraries were only accessible to graduate students of the
higher faculties and to teachers for a few hours per week. Some college
libraries had a special reference library for undergraduate students.

At first, the main libraries in many universities were housed in the
central building, as for example in the halle at Louvain, the Waaghaus
(weigh-house) at Halle, the Senate building at Duisburg or the Grandes
Ecoles at Poitiers or Orléans or in a college in Altdorf and Wirzburg.
In other cases they made use of a disused building, such as a church in
Leiden, Copenhagen and Abo, a cloister-hospital in Vienna or an aca-
demic printing-office in Dorpat.'*” Only gradually did they start to build
(frequently magnificent) buildings as they did in Dublin, Oxford, Coim-
bra, Salamanca and Cracow.

College and university archives were kept in chests with a complicated
system of locks in some college or university building, in closed cases in
the library or in a room specially provided for this purpose. Whenever
there was the danger caused by troops passing through the town,
attempts were made to move the archives to a place of safety. In the era
of the French Revolution many universities were abolished and their
archives went astray, to be found again in the most diverse places,
although mostly in public record offices in the region. Thus, while most
French university archives are now kept in departmental archives and
many Italian university archives in the regional states’ archives or in the
town libraries, those of Louvain ended up in the Public Record Office
in Brussels and those of Duisburg in the university library in Bonn.

Some universities appointed professional archivists. The Laudian
Code of Statutes from 1636 in Oxford mentions the tasks of the
newly created function of ‘keeper of the archives’. He had to be
capable of delivering the documents necessary for the defence of

4) N. Pevsner, A History of Building Types (London, 1976), 91-110; Jolly, ‘Batiments’
(note 136), 360-71.

46 See striking examples in Philip, ‘Libraries’ (note 133), 749-51.

47 Boissonnade, Poitiers (note 47), 24-5; Vallinkoski, Turku (note 126), 44-5, 119; Born,
Duisburg (note 120), 42.

201

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

university privileges. His wages were paid from a levy ‘for the defence
of privileges’.’**

Moreover, the library also often acted as a museum. Maps, coins,
globes, astronomic equipment, objects of art, portraits, zoological and
botanical objects were kept there. In short, often enough the library
looked like a museum of curiosities.'*’

From the very foundation of the universities everyone dealing in books
was a member of the university (suppositus or civis academicus). With
the development of the art of printing, printers settled in the university
towns. At first relations between printer-publisher and the alma mater
were not always cordial, but more about this later on. Printers could
obtain the monopoly on academic printed matter (statutes, programmes,
theses, etc.). Bookbinders working for the university also obtained the
status of suppositus, as did the booksellers who guaranteed the distri-
bution of manuals used during the courses. In Heidelberg, in the eight-
eenth century, twenty-two bookbinders, four (or five) university printers
and nine booksellers were known by name as being members of the
university. The printers who owned an Officina typographica academica
had to give priority to all university printing and do their printing for
fixed prices and observe the local laws on printing.’

In the early period of the art of printing, various experiments took
place with humanist printers sponsored and patronized by scholars.
Probably the best-known amongst them were Guillaume Fichets’s press
in the Sorbonne in Paris (1470-3) and John Siberch’s press in Cambridge
(1521-2/3). They introduced the Italian humanist (Carolingian) letter
type. In the well-attended universities of northern Italy (Padua, Pavia,
Pisa, Siena), all of high scientific standard, the presses that were founded
in the 1470s found it hard to survive; they mostly disappeared in the
first decades of the sixteenth century. Only in Bologna did the situation
look somewhat brighter. The humanist presses in the Holy Roman
Empire (Leipzig, Rostock, Wittenberg) or in the Iberian peninsula
(Alcala) in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth century were equally
short-lived. These ‘academic’ presses were unsuccessful simply because
their organization was clearly commercially inadequate and they
depended too much on the involvement of the scientific publishers and
the goodwill of colleagues. At first only those printers who had settled
in the big commercial centres (Venice, Antwerp, Paris and Basle) and
who could thus control ways and means of distribution could flourish
outside the university. Louvain was a rather exceptional case with prin-

448 Sutherland, ‘Administration’ (note 47), 208.

149 Many examples in Vallinkoski, Turku (note 126), 127—8 and Hulsoff Pol, ‘The Library’
(note 140), 414-17.

15° Wolf, Heidelberger Universitdtsangehérige (note 47), 53-60.

202

Management and resources

ters such as John of Westphalia (d. c. 1502), who started printing in
Louvain in 1473, and his successors Thierry Martens of Alost (1446/7-
1534), Rutger Rescius (c. 1497-1545) and John Sturm of Strasburg
(1507-89).'°’ Although these printers — themselves scholars — were
entered on the roll of and printed for the university, one cannot speak
of academic printers. The alma mater of Louvain gave them neither
accommodation nor financial facilities; relations with the Collegium Tri-
lingue, however, were very close.'°* Many university presses found them-
selves in a similar situation, although some printers succeeded in
extracting more from the universities. In the 1680s Mrs Anderson, the
Printer to the College of Edinburgh, managed to obtain permission to
install her printing office on the same level as the library, which was
accommodated on the first floor. Whether the readers in the reading-
room were still able to concentrate is a different matter.’°’ As the newly
founded University of Rinteln (in 1620) wished to attract a privileged
academic printer in 1621, they offered Peter Lucius (1590-1656), printer
from Giessen, the following contract: apart from an annual payment
of 50 Reichstaler, he would have free use of a workroom and living
accommodation in the university buildings; these rooms, however, had
to be renovated at his own expense. After his death in 1656 his wife
succeeded him as academic printer, followed by his son and grandson.'*
From the outset in 1575 the young University of Leiden appointed an
academy printer. Under the guidance of Christophe Plantin (c. 1520-89)
and his son-in-law Franciscus Raphelengius (1539-97) this press-
publishing business, known by the name of the Officina Plantiniana
(1583-1619), had an international reputation. It certainly contributed
to the attraction of the alma mater of Leiden.'’? Members of the Elsevier
family, who worked at the Plantin Press in Antwerp before settling as
booksellers in Leiden in 1587, took over the university printing activities
of Raphelengius. The contract concluded between the printer-bookseller
Isaac Elsevier (1596-1651) and the University of Leiden in 1620 gives a
good idea of the function of an academic press. It is clear, however,
that this cannot be compared to the way the actual university presses
functioned in Oxford and Cambridge (see below, p. 204). The press in
Leiden was not a university body itself. Elsevier remained an independent

'! Volume 1, pp. 128, 465; E. P. Goldschmidt, The First Cambridge University Press in
its European Setting (Cambridge, 1955), passim.

‘82H. de Vocht, History of the Foundation and the Rise of the Collegium Trilingue Lova-
niense, 1517-1550, vol. 1 (Louvain, 1951), 87-8 and passim.

'S3 J, Bevan, ‘Seventeenth-Century Students and their Books’, in G. Donaldson (ed.), Four
Centuries of Edinburgh University Life 1583-1983 (Edinburgh 1983), 17-18.

54 Schormann, Academia Ernestina (note 27), 136-40.

SSE, van Gulik, ‘Drukkers en Geleerden. De Leidse Officina Plantiniana (1583-1619)’,
in Leiden University (note 140), 367-89.

203

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

printer with certain contractual obligations with the university, and
therefore received certain privileges as well as an annual payment of 50
guilders and a place in the university buildings. As a contracted printer
to the university, Elsevier had always to reserve one and a half presses
to print smaller articles from the academic authorities and the pro-
fessors. The larger works were to be the subject of discussion. The
printer had to be sure that he had at his disposal good proof-readers
capable of offering high-quality work. A copy of each work printed on
Elsevier’s presses was to be offered to the library of Leiden. The printer-
bookseller had to purchase at his own risk all the books the professors
wished to send for from Frankfurt (Main) and sell them at usual book-
shop prices. In addition he had to respect the rules and regulations issued
by the States of Holland.'°° Each printer in each country was supposed
to comply with the official legislation on the production and sale of
books. The fact is that by virtue of the Reformation, followed by the
Counter-Reformation, the authorities started controlling the press and
restricted its liberty. University towns often had a privileged status. In
this way the Star Chamber Decree of 1586 stipulated that presses were
to be restricted to London, Oxford and Cambridge, the latter to be
allowed only one printer each. In both towns only a few years earlier
the press, supported by the university, had resumed some of its activities
(in 1583 in Cambridge and in 1584 in Oxford). As on the Continent,
printing remained a privately based business. It was not until 1632
(confirmed in the Laudian Statutes of 1636) that a university press could
start in Oxford, arranged, subsidized and controlled by the academic
authorities (Convocation). It was managed by the vice-chancellor and
two delegates, appointed by the proctors, but management and oper-
ation were not free of problems until the nineteenth century. In Cam-
bridge it was not until 1698 that the university governors founded a
Press Syndicate in order to guarantee the organization and the manage-
ment of the University Press. Only the fact that both university presses
had a monopoly on the printing of those books, including bibles,
reserved since 1534 to the King’s Printer, enabled them to survive
financially.'°”

Anyhow, it is clear that in early modern times the production, sale,
conservation and consultation of books became an essential element of
the university.

6 A, Willems, Les Elzevier. Histoire et annales typographiques (Brussels/Paris/The
Hague, 1880, reprint 1965), xlv—l; see also D. W. Davies, The World of the Elseviers
1580-1712 (The Hague, 1954).

'S7 H. G. Carter, A History of the Oxford University Press, vol. 1: To the Year 1780
(Oxford, 1975); D. McKitterick, A History of Cambridge University Press, vol. 1: Print-
ing and the Book Trade in Cambridge 1534-1698 (Cambridge, 1992).

204

Management and resources

ACADEMIC INSIGNIA

Like their predecessors in the Middle Ages,’°® all newly founded univer-
sities in early modern times had their own insignia. They were indissolu-
bly bound with the identity of the institution and had many symbolic
meanings. They were meant to illustrate the antiquity of the institution;
many universities were, and still are, of the view that, the older they
were, the more they would gain in respect and authority. Although one
can state that there are general similarities in the nature of academic
insignia in early modern times, there are many variations which should
be noted, arising not only from the time when they were chosen, but
also from their differing symbolic significance. In Vienna, for instance,
the matriculation book is part of the insignia, in Basle we find the Bilgen
(sack) and in Cracow it is the ring.'’? The ring was used in many univer-
sities in the German Empire and in Italy as one of the insignia doctoralia.

As well as a great seal for the alma mater, each university, faculty and
college had its own seal. They were not only used to legalize official
documents, they also represented a symbol of academic autonomy. At
the opening of the University of Duisburg in 1654, the great seal of the
university was carried along in the procession on a cushion. The oval
seal had all the traditional features: a legend and a picture of the foun-
der, the Elector Frederick William of Brandenburg, and of the Emperor
Maximilian II, both in full academicals and surrounded by all the sym-
bols of their power. The seal was meant to make it plain that Duisburg
was a Landesuniversitdt, recognized by the highest authority, the
emperor.'©° The university seal often carried the image of the Holy
Mother, patroness of many universities, and many faculty seals carried
those of their patron saints.'®’

Similarly, the sceptres symbolized the legal independence of the insti-
tution and its right to have its own academic court of justice.'©

The universities, nations and colleges were equally proud of their scut-
cheon, in no way inferior to those of sovereigns, towns, nobles, and
royal and clerical dignitaries. Arms were depicted on the banners too.
Already at the Council of Constance (1414-18), the university del-
egations made themselves recognizable by means of banners with the
arms of the university. Other corporations, such as the nations, also had

88 See volume 1, pp. 139-42 for the medieval situation, which persists generally in the
following period.

159 F, Gall, Die Insignien der Universitat Wien, Studien zur Geschichte der Universitat
Wien, 4 (Graz/Cologne, 1965), 11-12, with comprehensive literature in footnote.

16° Born, Duisburg (note 120), 28.

161 Miiller, Geschichte (note 74), 22.

16 G. W. Vorbrodt and I. Vorbrodt, Die akademischen Szepter und Stabe in Europa,
Corpus sceptrorum, 1 (2 vols., Heidelberg, 1971-8).

205

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

their own banners, which they carried with them in processions and
ceremonies. '°°

During the sixteenth century the rector and, possibly, the deans in
Prague adopted the habit of wearing a chain of office. It is not clear how
this habit was introduced. It was a most noble feudal custom to wear
a chain with medals; in addition, deserving high-ranking officials also
obtained the prerogative to wear chains as a symbol of their dignity.’
However, according to Gall, the rector of Freiburg im Breisgau was the
first in the Holy Roman Empire to wear a chain of office, during the
reign of Maria Theresia. In Vienna, the chain of office for rectors and
deans was introduced no earlier than the end of the eighteenth century,
when official robes were no longer in use.'®

In Vienna, during the Renaissance, the office of rector became increas-
ingly important and this was reflected in the titles that rectors bore in
baroque times (monarcha, princeps, primas, archigymnasiarcha) and in
the official robes, specially designed for them in Spanish style (black
gown with gold-stitched epomis, ermine-trimmed collar and hems, white
lace bands, Spanish hat). The deans of the faculties also adapted their
outfits to make them more luxurious. As a sign of their dignity, the
rectors sat for their portraits in full academicals.'®° In fact, this became
common custom and was adopted by the deans and the heads of the
colleges. Each institution dating from the Renaissance that had kept its
patrimony was able to have a portrait gallery at its disposal.

From the Renaissance onwards, there was a general tendency to wear
more practical, simple and comfortable clothing, adapted to working
conditions and the new social ideas. Academic dress also came under
this influence. The most important general characteristics were the open-
ing at the front of the gown and its ‘decoration’ with different kinds of
sleeves (bag-sleeved, bell-sleeved and wing-sleeved gowns, cloak gown
with streamers, flap-collared, false-sleeved gown) and new types of head-
coverings (academic bonnet, square bonnet and square cap).'°’ In several
countries academic dress was secularized; it was adapted to the prevail-
ing fashion (under Spanish influence), and became more colourful and
luxurious. Both professors and students were increasingly inclined to
wear fashionable civilian clothes. At first, and certainly in countries such
as England, Spain, Portugal, southern Germany and Austria, where
religion played a dominant role in university life, the academic authorit-

"63 Gall, Insignien (note 159), 71ff., orf.

Die Karlsuniversitat Prag. Geschichte und Gegenwart (Prague, 1989), 13.

Gall, Insignien (note 159), 74-6.

Gall, Insignien (note 159), 14-15, 40-2.

General survey in W. N. Hargreaves-Mawdsley, A History of Academic Dress in
Europe until the End of the Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 1963), passim and glossary
with drawings 190-5. See also chapter 5, pp. 248-9 and chapter 8, pp. 348-9.

164

206

Management and resources

ies tried to set bounds to these excesses in dress, but they were only
successful in the countries mentioned above, where academic dress was
maintained in its more traditional form. In other countries the academic
authorities could only resign themselves to secularization and make the
wearing of academic dress obligatory only at academic ceremonies, but
in early modern times secular clothes were also subject to rules and
restrictions. However, in many German towns, people from the univer-
sities, and in general everyone having a university degree, were exempt
from this law on clothing.’

The problem of academic dress was solved in the Holy Roman
Empire, when, in 1784, the Emperor Joseph II promulgated a ban on
specific official robes (Mantelkleider). His reason for doing so was that
these robes went back to the dark ages, when the popes still arrogated
to themselves the right to found universities; besides that, academicals
were a waste of money. Rectors and deans were no longer allowed to
wear more than a chain with medals as a symbol of their dignity. The
University of Prague beadles, whose current dress goes back to the
Renaissance, escaped Joseph II’s ban, as their outfit was considered to
be a livery and as such it did not fall under the measure.'®’

Newly founded universities had to prove themselves, and create a self-
image that would be accepted by the outside world. In this matter, civic
rituals played an important part. To emphasize the credibility of the new
institutions, rituals were taken over from ‘ancient’ institutions, which
already manifested themselves as traditional to the outside world. The
opening of the academic year, the celebration of the dies natalis and the
commemoration of the benefactors and the patron saint, the pro-
motions, certain elections, etc. were occasions for the display, with much
pomp and circumstance, with cortéges, academic orations — often per-
formed in literary terms by the public orator — and banquets, of the
grandeur and respectability of the institutions not only to the outside
world, but also to their own community. The development that took
place over the years, from a quasi-clerical to a more aristocratic insti-
tution, increased the inclination towards external parade; indeed, it
became a necessity in order to be taken seriously. Consequently, when
it was founded, Trinity College in Dublin took over the ‘commencement
ceremonies’, the rituals in granting degrees, from Cambridge. A well-
formulated choreography, including a procession in which all members
of the corporate body in distinguished dress participated, supported by
all material symbols and followed by a ritual dinner, was to contribute

68 L. C. Eisenbart, Kleiderordnungen deutscher Stuidte zwischen 1350 und 1750. Ein
Beitrag zur Kulturgeschichte des deutschen Birgertums, Gottinger Bausteine zur Ge-
schichtswissenschaft, 32 (Géttingen, 1962), 60-3.

169 Gall, Insignien (note 159), 50-1, 54; Karlsuniversitat Prag (note 164), 15-17.

207

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

to the creation of the myth of Trinity College. The complete procedure
and protocol were described in detail in the university statutes.’”°

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Vorbrodt, G. W. and Vorbrodt, I. Die akademischen Szepter und Stabe in
Europa, Corpus sceptrorum, 1, 2 vols., Heidelberg, 1971-8.

Willoweit, D. ‘Die Universitaten’, in K. G. A. Jeserich, H. Pohl and G.-C. von
Unruh (eds.), Deutsche Verwaltungsgeschichte, Vol. 1: Vom Spdatmittelalter
bis zum Ende des Reiches, Stuttgart, 1983, 369-83.

Wingens, M. F. M. ‘Zur Vermeidung der Schande: Organisation und strafrecht-
liche Tatigkeit der Universitatsgerichte in der Republik der Niederlande
(1575-1811)’, in H. Mohnhaupt and D. Simon (eds.), Vortrdge zur Justizfor-
schung. Geschichte und Theorie, Frankfurt-on-Main, 1992, vol. 1, 79-100.

Wingens, M. F. M. ‘Gli studenti nel XVII e XVIII secolo: privilegi, tradizioni e
costumi’, Studi belgi e olandesi per il IX centenario dell’alma mater bolognese,
Bologna, 1990, 241-55.

209

CHAPTER 5

TEACHERS

PETER A. VANDERMEERSCH

In writing a chapter about European university teachers in the early
modern era, we have some important practical and methodological
problems to face. The term ‘teachers’ implies a homogeneity but the
group of persons is clearly very heterogeneous. Furthermore, the histori-
cal terminology of professorships is intricate. We know that the Latin
word professor was long applied to all holders of a doctorate, as in the
common designation STP (Sanctae Theologiae Professor) meaning
doctor of theology.’ It is equally certain that the Latin word lector or
praelector was long the current and official term for what later came to
be known as a professor. Finally, whereas much progress has been made
by scholars studying the social history of the university, they have neg-
lected that of university professors, the social history of the teaching

group.

KINDS OF TEACHERS AND TEACHING SYSTEMS

Although the university teacher of early modern times still has a lot in
common with his medieval counterpart, new forms of teaching and new
kinds of teachers gained in importance from the end of the fifteenth
century. Economic, political and religious changes, as well as changing
concepts of the teaching function, led to alterations and diversification
within the professoriate. Oxford and Cambridge provide a good illus-
tration because the process was very pronounced there.* During the

* G. D. Duncan, ‘Public Lectures and Professorial Chairs’, History of Oxford III, 335.
2 Cf. W. A. Pantin, ‘The Conception of the Universities in England in the Period of the
Renaissance’, in Universités européennes, 101-13. See also J. M. Fletcher, “The Faculty
of Arts’, in History of Oxford III, 185-8 and M. H. Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge

Teachers

Middle Ages there was nowhere a clear distinction between the teachers
and the taught. For example, when a student became a bachelor of a
faculty, he had to give lectures. Every candidate was obliged to give
lectures during the years following his promotion to master or doctor —
this was known as necessary regency. In this way courses of lectures
were assured, at least in principle, by a continual succession of appren-
tice or recently graduated students (regent masters). The system had
marked advantages: it provided a changing, fresh body of lecturers who
made no financial demands on the university.

On the other hand, it lengthened considerably the student’s obligatory
residence at the university and inhibited the recruitment of highly quali-
fied lecturers.

During the sixteenth century this system of necessary regency was
modified and supplemented. At Oxford by the late 1550s we find men-
tion of masters ‘deputed to lecture’: the earlier requirement that all stud-
ents should lecture after obtaining their degrees had by then been more
or less abandoned. For example, in the Oxford faculty of arts, measures
were taken to ensure that nine masters were chosen to lecture in the arts
course, though in the faculty of theology many lectures were still given
by bachelors working towards their doctorate.

In the same period the idea was conceived of creating a certain number
of permanent and endowed posts for lecturers (lectores or professores —
the names are interchangeable until the seventeenth century). In 1497-
1502, Lady Margaret, mother of King Henry VII, founded and endowed
lecturships in theology at both Cambridge and Oxford, the first example
of such a foundation successfully achieved. To Cambridge Sir Robert
Rede, Chief Justice of Common Pleas from 1506 to 1519, left provision
in his will for the salaries of lecturers in philosophy, logic and rhetoric.
Henry VIII brought royal patronage to this movement by establishing
the regius professorships of divinity, law, medicine, Hebrew and Greek.
Thomas Linacre, observing that Oxford University suffered from a lack
of instruction in medicine, due to the decay of regency and the fact that
no one had founded any ‘substanciall or perpetual lecture’ there, decided
to remedy this situation in the light of what he had experienced at Padua.
And in the same way Sir Henry Savile, warden of Merton College, estab-
lished two lectureships in 1619 at Oxford in geometry and astronomy.
Thus there was a trend towards public, permanently endowed lec-
tureships and lecturers, from the fourteenth century onwards in Italy
and from the fifteenth century in the rest of Europe.

in Transition 1558-1642. An Essay on Changing Relations between the English Univer-
sities and English Society (Oxford, 1959), 101-10.

211

Peter A. Vandermeersch

Along with this process, there was, on the part of the colleges, an
effort to provide their own teaching — a need which was more obvious
after the introduction (for example at Magdalen) of the modern under-
graduate. The statutes of Magdalen College (1479) lay down that the
college shall supply lecturers and lectures, which the fellows are obliged
to attend. From the beginning of the sixteenth century, every new college
foundation made at Oxford and Cambridge contained provisions for
college lectures, and most of the older colleges made arrangements for
them. By the beginning of Elizabeth’s reign it would appear that all the
colleges had sufficient lecturers to assume the entire burden of
instruction.

These two processes — the search for permanent lecturers and the
growing trend towards college teaching — converged and united: at Mag-
dalen College, at Corpus Christi College, at Christ Church, the colleges
supplied lecturers — lectores, professores — whose lectures were open to
the whole university.

Lastly, besides these university and college lectures, there appeared a
kind of teaching which has been a speciality of Oxford and Cambridge
for centuries: individual teaching by tutors. Not much is known about
the work of tutors or the methods they used in the sixteenth century.
Their successors in the seventeenth century, however, have left records
of what they did. One man, Richard Holdsworth, fellow of St John’s
College in Cambridge, drew up detailed instructions to guide his pupils.
From these, it becomes clear that collegiate instruction left little for the
university lecturers to do. The studies which Holdsworth prescribed for
his pupils are much fuller, more thorough, and more comprehensive than
those offered in the public schools of the universities.’

So in Oxford and Cambridge the system of teaching provided by halls
and colleges, and the tutorial system, were well established in the period
1450-1550. The tutorial system became even more important in the
period 1550-1650. Yet one must not forget that the public teaching of
the university survived at least until the middle of the seventeenth cen-
tury, and it was only in the eighteenth century that the university’s teach-
ing atrophied, leaving a near-monopoly to the colleges and tutors.

As stated above, the changes in the teaching system, and consequently
the changing importance of different kinds of teachers, is most pro-
nounced at the English universities. But in many continental universities
as well college teaching (or the artes instruction given in the so-called
‘pedagogies’) gained increasingly in importance (Paris, Louvain, Sala-
manca, etc. ). The continental universities also saw the development of
a professoriate that was clearly differentiated from the students during

> Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge (note 2), 102-11.

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Teachers

early modern times. However, it would be a mistake to assume that it
would be easier to define the continental teachers. Even within the same
university, professors, doctors or /ectores had different privileges, differ-
ent salaries, different duties, tasks or responsibilities.

In general, almost every university had a small nucleus of powerful
‘fixed’ professors, surrounded by a more or less important group of all
kinds of teachers (doctors, masters, licentiates, candidates and
baccalaureates) who assisted the former group in its duties, or earned
their living by giving private or tutorial instruction. Louvain is an excel-
lent illustration: in that university, as in many others, there existed first
of all a clear distinction between the professores regentes and the pro-
fessores legentes. The latter only had to teach, while the regentes, who
were always doctors, not only taught but also played a role on the fac-
ulty board: they determined the programme of instruction, represented
the faculty, examined the students, presided over the disputations and
divided the fees among themselves. In short, the regentes were well-paid
and powerful professors whose enviable postions were aspired to by the
legentes. A second distinction existed between the professores ordinarii
and the non ordinarii (or extraordinarit). In contrast to the latter, the
ordinarii taught at scheduled times (in the morning); they taught the
most important subjects and the students were obliged to attend their
lessons. Finally, a third group of professors was paid and appointed by
the king or his representatives: the professores regii or caesarii (regius
professors) in the faculties of theology, law and medicine. These royal
chairs were introduced by Charles V in imitation of the chairs he had
created at some Spanish universities."

Such variety of professorial status was not peculiar to Louvain. The
German law faculties distinguished the doctores collegii and the doctores
non collegiati (a distinction which reflects the Louvain differentiation
between regentes and legentes); those who had graduated from the fac-
ulty in question and those who had taken their degree somewhere else;
those who were paid for their teaching, and those who were not (usually
older students who had to give repetitiones and courses to obtain their
higher degrees); lesende and nicht-lesende teachers; and, finally, ordina-
rii, extraordinarti and Privatdozenten.’ The latter had neither a salary
nor the obligation to lecture and depended for their living on their suc-
cess as private teachers. Eventually, after some years, they could hope
to obtain a salaried lectureship. In Paris the powerful docteurs régents

* E. Lamberts and J. Roegiers (eds.), Leuven University 1425-1985 (Louvain, 1990),
46-8.

> K. H. Burmeister, Das Studium der Rechte im Zeitalter des Humanismus im deutschen
Rechtsbereich (Stuttgart, 1974), 139-60.

213

Peter A. Vandermeersch

were assisted in their duties by the docteurs agrégés and (to a lesser
degree) by the docteurs honoraires.

In Spanish and Italian universities, the most important professors,
holding the catedras mayores, taught in the morning, while the younger
lecturers, holding the catedras minores, taught in the afternoon. The
former enjoyed ceremonial precedence, the right to belong to the univer-
sity council, the opportunity to participate in all examinations and
degree ceremonies — a privilege which provided a considerable income
thanks to student fees — and, last but not least, their regular stipends
were on average two or three times higher than those of lecturers.

To complete the picture, we must mention the honorary doctors
associated with the universities. They belonged to religious, political,
literary or scientific groups, and although in certain cases they played
an active role in university life, they were considered to be ‘gens célébres
pour le lustre de la Faculté, plus que pour son utilité et son rétablisse-.
ment’.® The title was indeed more often awarded to the country’s leading
men rather than in recognition of scholarship.

At first elance, this rather confusing variation in professorial status
seems both formal and of little importance. However, as we shall see,
the professorial hierarchy is important in the study of the salaries, the
social identity and the careers of teachers. Considering the heterogeneity
of this group, the reader will understand how difficult it is to make
general statements about university teachers during the early modern
period. It is obvious that ‘the professor’, as we know him, did not exist
at all.

TEACHING AS A PROFESSION

An orderly, upright man with a well-ordered erudition and a gift for com-
municating is more suitable to become a professor than a scholarly mon-
ster who labors only for himself and the world or who does little for his
students, or a genius who has offensive morals and who does not think
it worth the labor to employ diligence on lectures for his students, or a
rhapsodic polymath who strews everything together without any connec-
tion and has no proper method of instruction. (L. H. Jacob, 1798)’

On this issue of teaching versus scholarship, during a discussion which
emerged inter alia in eighteenth-century Germany, a few theorists even
went so far as to argue that the university and its professors had no
obligation at all to advance scholarship. Others agreed with the more

° M. A. Lemasne-Desjobert, La Faculté de droit de Paris aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siécles
(Paris, 1966), 31-2, concerning the faculty of law in seventeenth-century Paris.

” Quoted by R. S. Turner, ‘University Reformers and Professorial Scholarship in Germany
1760-1806’, in Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 11, 516-17.

214

Teachers

moderate concept that the professor’s role as scholar must be strictly
subordinated to his role as teacher. However, the lack of consensus
about how exclusively teaching should be emphasized opened the way
to detailed discussions about the professor’s broader duties as a scholar.
The eighteenth-century German, Christoph Martin Wieland, for
example, argued that publication was indeed one of the duties of the
professor: ‘The business of publishing belongs in and for itself among
the activities of a scholar, and it is so much the more suitable to the
professor because through it he has the opportunity to make himself
known abroad and so promote the honor of the university’.® But in prac-
tice the degree of obligation to scientific or literary production of univer-
sity teachers differed greatly from university to university, and from aca-
demic to academic.

No one will deny, for instance, that professors at Dutch universities
in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries made important contri-
butions to the development of science and law (in this country it was
an indispensable status symbol to do at least some research), that the
publications of the theology professors of the rather small University of
Douai had a great impact on the Counter-Reformation, that humanists
and scientists like Justus Lipsius, Joseph Scaliger, Andreas Vesalius,
Rembert Dodoens and many others published important works, or that
many professors contributed to the success of some seventeenth- and
eighteenth-century scientific journals, and had intensive contacts with
members of the academies. Johann David Michaelis stated in 1768 that
‘most of our great scholars work at the university, and amongst the
others several have actually taught as university professors’.’

These examples confirm the theory that the role of university teachers
was to add to the understanding of their particular discipline, not simply
to disseminate existing knowledge. ‘It was for this reason that professors
of theology were so intently caught up in contemporary doctrinal
controversies, lawyers attempted to uncover the rationality of positive
law, and professors of medicine often made important contributions to
medical science’.'®

But the general opinion was probably that of the eighteenth-century
advocate of professorial publication, Christoph Meiners, who stated that

8 W. Stieda, Erfurter Universitatsreformplane im 18. Jahrhundert (Erfurt, 1934), 176-7,
quoted by Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 519.

* Quoted by N. Hammerstein, ‘Universitaten und gelehrte Institutionen von der Aufkla-
rung zum Neuhumanismus und Idealismus’, in G. Mann and F. Dumont (eds.), Samuel
Thomas Soemmerring und die Gelehrten der Goethe-Zeit, Soemmerring-Forschungen,
1 (Stuttgart/New York 1985), 311; N. Hammerstein, ‘Zur Geschichte und Bedeutung
der Universitaten im Heiligen R6mischen Reich Deutscher Nation’, Historische Zeit-
schrift, 241 (1985), 327-8.

215

Peter A. Vandermeersch

‘most universities were formerly inclined to consider a special talent for
the oral lecture as much more worthy of reward than distinctive gifts and
fame as a writer’.'' In his study of the universities in eighteenth-century
Germany, Steven Turner examined how important publications were for
making a career at the university.'* The average number of publications
of the members of the faculty of philosophy (1765-6) at the prestigious
University of Géttingen was only five at the time of the first appoint-
ment, and about ten at the time of promotion to full professor. More-
over, these publications were of variable quality, consisting of such
diverse works as collected sermons, encyclopaedic compendia, dispu-
tations and literary works. And, finally, the situation of Géttingen was
much better than that of smaller institutions like Rostock and Freiburg
im Breisgau. Only during the last decades of the period under discussion
here does this attitude begin to change.

In short, for instance in eighteenth-century Germany, good teaching
and collegial values such as popularity in the university were obviously
just as important as scholarship if one looks at all the professors. In
several faculties it is more than clear that it was not necessarily the
scholars whose literary output gained them the esteem of later gener-
ations who attracted the majority of students. The professors with a
good teaching reputation did. The different teaching methods — the
lectiones ordinariae et extraordinariae, the repetitiones, the disput-
ationes, the privatissima — as well as the subjects the professors taught
or did not teach are discussed in chapter 14. Here we will confine
ourselves to the question of whether professors — within the limits of
their faculty and of course within the limits of orthodoxy — were free
to teach the subject or the topics they preferred and to choose appro-
priate methods.

There was great variation in the strength of the statutory arrange-
ments surrounding university chairs. As far as some of the French univer-
sities are concerned, there was, for instance, little attempt to ensure that
graduands could successfully cover the whole curriculum during their
three- or four-year mandatory stay. ‘An individual professor might be
expected to teach a complete course or only a particular aspect, but in
either case, only occasionally were specific guidelines laid down concern-
ing the material to be covered in a given time. Lecturers usually pro-
ceeded at their own pace and pursued their own interests’.'* All that was
expected of the students was that they follow the courses of a certain
number of lecturers during their stay. On the other hand, there are many

" C. Meiners, Uber die Verfassung und Verwaltung der Deutschen Universitaten, vol.
(Gottingen, 1801), 55, quoted by Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 519-20.

2 Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 515-28.

'S Brockliss, French Higher Education, 45.

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Teachers

examples of professors being obliged to teach a very specific subject or
to read their whole lecture from the beginning to the end in a well-
defined period of time. Henry Savile, the founder of the Savilian pro-
fessorships (geometry and astronomy) at Oxford, for instance, required
that his professor of geometry should teach not only Euclid but also
Apollonius’s Comics and Archimedes’s mathematical principles, while
Camden — against the wishes of the university officials — insisted that his
professor should lecture on civil history. But it is worthy of remark that
other positions (such as the regius professorships of physics in Oxford
and Cambridge) were so ill-defined and expectations so loose that they
made effective teaching very much dependent upon the inclinations of
the individual incumbent.

Some university or college statutes also tried to specify the methods
to be used in teaching. As far as the public lectures at Christ Church
(Oxford) were concerned, they stated that the lecturers were to set
themes at the beginning of each week and examine their students on
them at the end of the week. On Sundays and certain feast days each of
the professors was to be available in his lecture room for up to an hour
to deal with any questions put to him by his pupils.'* Not only were
the subjects and the teaching methods therefore subject to all kinds of
regulations, but also the diligence of the teachers. As we shall see below
(pp. 238, 242, 250), absenteeism of teachers was a constant problem in
a majority of seventeenth-century universities. Consequently, university
and governmental authorities tried in various ways to ensure that teach-
ers fulfilled their duties. If they were absent without good reason, pro-
fessors could be fined or even dismissed.

Besides their teaching duties, the professors had other obligations to
the university and to the students. With regard to the university, pro-
fessors sat on the faculty or university boards, on all kinds of com-
mittees, filled the positions of rector, dean, head of a college, librarian,
etc. In the course of the early modern period there is, however, a tend-
ency to restrict the administrative obligations of the teaching corps. In
1697, for instance, the duke of Wiirttemberg proposed that the Univer-
sity of Tiibingen entrust the princely visitation committee and certain
civil servants with the management of the university patrimony. As a
result, professors had more time to spend on teaching.’”

With respect to the students, the teachers saw their task not only as
that of inculating the necessary knowledge in their students but also as

‘4 Duncan, ‘Public Lectures’ (note 1), 340-1.

'S H.-U. Schwarz, ‘Von den ‘“‘Fleischtépfen” der Professoren. Bemerkungen zur Wirt-
schaftsgeschichte der Universitat Tiibingen’, in H. Decker-Hauff, G. Fichtner and K.
Schreiner (eds.), Beitrége zur Geschichte der Universitat Tiibingen, 1477-1977
(Tibingen, 1977), 96.

217

Peter A. Vandermeersch

one of watching over their general behaviour when they were not study-
ing. In several universities, professors had to control the conduct and
the way of life of the students, their leisure activities, religious feelings,
etc.

But professors did more than fulfil their teaching duties and —- to a
greater or lesser extent — publish. Even without considering for the
moment their private teaching and practices (see below, p. 237), their
job included more than that. In general it is true to say that, without
exception, all universities and a majority of the teachers working within
them served as a pool of talent for advising the state and church auth-
orities: theologians and lawyers acted as advisers to the princes, bishops,
landgraves, etc. in all kinds of councils and diets, in dealing with foreign
powers, in drawing up the Index, in controlling the publication and sale
of books, in preaching themselves and in censoring preaching, as spiri-
tual and medical advisors. They were present at the Council of Trent,
wrote countless polemics and recommendations concerning matters of
religion, education, or politics, acted as guardians of law, faith and
orthodoxy. More especially, the law professors and the law faculties
were consulted by princes, cities, private persons, courts for consilia
(Gutachten) concerning all manner of subjects. These activities were
inherent in some professorial positions, for many teachers were first of
all the possessors of a prebend, an ecclesiastical office. Contemporaries,
of course were aware of the fact that obligations like these took a lot of
the professors’ time, which they should having been spending in their
study or classroom. Therefore, in Heidelberg, Otto Heinrich (1502-59)
stated that the professors should ‘in no way be charged or burdened
with the actions taken by our chancellery and our court of justice’.’®
But, in the Heidelberg statutes of 1652, the elector, Karl Ludwig, stated
that the extraordinarii in the law faculty should not only teach but that
they should also give ‘Relationen, Responsen, Consilien und Urteilen’
(opinions, advice), with the express intention that ‘a permanent seminar
of well-trained and skilled jurists would be at hand, whom we [the elec-
tor] could have at our university, and who would be at our personal
disposal at any time’,’’ although such an explicit obligation is excep-
tional. However, this last social function of the university teachers
became increasingly important in the course of early modern times. This
phenomenon explains why, during this period, in Germany for instance,
the universities and especially the law faculties gained such an important
position.

‘© N. Hammerstein, ‘Universitaten — Territorialstaaten — Gelehrte Rate’, in R. Schnur (ed.),
Die Rolle der Juristen bei der Entstebung des modernen Staates (Berlin, 1986), 712.

'7 G. Dickel, Die Heidelberger Juristische Fakultat. Stufen und Wandlungen ihrer Entwick-
lung (s.l., s.d.), 187-8.

218

Teachers

APPOINTMENTS

Before describing the general characteristics of the professoriate, we
must ask ourselves which requirements candidates had to fulfil and
which qualities tipped the scale when a new professor was appointed.

The doctoral promotion, which was nearly always only a formalistic
but very expensive and solemn ceremony, symbolized the reception of
the newly created doctor into the circle of teachers. However, in many
universities, this doctoral degree was not the conditio sine qua non for
an appointment. This is certainly true with regard to instructors in the
faculty of arts. Most of these were licentiates or masters who, while
teaching in this faculty, also studied in a higher faculty, particularly in
the faculty of theology. In the other faculties as well, many teachers did
not hold a doctoral degree. In Spain, for instance, university teaching
posts required a minimum of a baccalaureate, although most institutions
had additional rules obliging newly appointed teachers to graduate to
licentiate or doctor within six months to a year.'® In the southern
Netherlands, only a licentiate was required. In the Louvain faculties of
medicine, law and theology 339 professors were appointed between
1501 and 1797. Only 104 (30.7 per cent) of them had obtained the
doctoral degree prior to their appointment. One hundred and three tea-
chers (30.4 per cent) were promoted after their initial appointment, par-
ticularly when they had the opportunity of obtaining a place in the colle-
gium strictum of the faculty. One hundred and thirty-two (39.9 per cent)
professors never took the trouble of obtaining a doctoral degree.’’
Neither did 21 of the 59 professors of French law appointed between
1679 and 1793 in the southern French universities.*° On the other hand,
in the law faculty of Ingolstadt, 77 of the 87 professors were doctores,
in Cologne (1460-1559) 83 per cent of the law professors were doctors,
and from 1601 onwards the law faculty of Tiibingen required a doctoral
degree of every ordinarius (for the extraordinarii a licentiate was
sufficient).”"

If a doctorate was not decisive, what standards were applied to
appointments by the nomination authorities? This is a rather difficult
question to answer.

18 Kagan, Students and Society, 165.

19 J. Roegiers, ‘Professorencarriéres aan de oude universiteit Leuven (1425-1797)’, in G.
Asaert et al. (eds.), Liber amicorum Dr. J]. Scheerder. Tijdingen uit Leuven over de
Spaanse Nederlanden, de Leuvense Universiteit en Historiografie (Louvain, 1987),
23 5-6.

20 C. Chéne, L’Enseignement du droit francais en pays de droit écrit (1679-1793), Tra-
vaux dhistoire éthico-politique, 39 (Geneva, 1982), 109.

*1 H. Wolff, Geschichte der Ingolstadter Juristenfakultat (Berlin, 1973), 102; H.-W.
Thiimmel, Die Tibinger Universitatsverfassung im Zeitalter des Absolutismus

219

Peter A. Vandermeersch

In general, we can distinguish three different systems of appointment:
in the first instance there was the faculty board which decided the merits
of a candidate and his appointment. In a second system the appointment
was decided on not by the faculty but by all the members of the univer-
sity. And finally there was a system which left the appointment up to
the local, provincial or national government. These three forms of
appointment — by the faculty, by the students, and by the authorities —
appear in mixed forms: at Oxford, for instance, the six regius professors
were appointed by the crown; a few professors were elected by large
university assemblies (the Lady Margaret Chair in Theology by all who
had taken divinity degrees at the university, the Poetry Professorship by
all MAs who kept their names on the books of their colleges). Most
professors, however, were selected by smaller boards generally consisting
of the heads of certain colleges together with some important public
officials. Teaching within the college was performed by several of the
fellows, selected either by the head or by co-optation.”

In France*’ the power to appoint nearly always lay with the faculty
board. According to the statutes a vacancy had to be advertised and
applicants submitted to a series of rigorous public examinations known
as the concours. The faculty board then discussed the merits of the indi-
vidual candidates and a decision was made by majority verdict. Candi-
dates for a professorship of law at Toulouse in 1742, for instance, had
to give twelve hour-long praelectiones on aspects of canon and civil law
and lead two public debates, each eight hours in length, on legal contro-
versies. But there is evidence that in the early seventeenth century these
concours were replaced by a process called ‘postulation’, whereby the
board suggested a likely candidate to the crown and received letters
patent in his favour. The king, moreover, might sometimes step in and
appoint professors directly, as happened in the case of two mid-
seventeenth-century Parisian professors of law: Florent and Hallé. But
in France the habit never spread to the other faculties and postulation
was normally used only when a professorship was first established.

Some chairs in prestigious faculties were highly sought after. Five or
six candidates were common, but twelve disputed Pierre Dortoman’s
Montpellier chair of medicine in 1617. Concours were never held in
faculties where appointments were made for a short period of time,
notably the medical faculties of Paris and Angers, where professors
served for one or two years only. Here professors were appointed from

(Tubingen, 1975), 190; H. Keussen (ed.), Die Matrikel der Universitat K6éln, vol. 1
(Bonn, 1928), 70*-86%.

22 A. Engel, ‘Emerging Concepts of the Academic Profession at Oxford 1800-1854’, in
Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, 305-6.

3 Brockliss, French Higher Education, 39ff.

220

Teachers

within the faculty board. In some cases, however, appointments escaped
partially or entirely the control of the faculty board: professors of French
law (established in all French law faculties in 1679) were appointed
directly by the crown at the suggestion of the local gens du roi, pro-
fessors at Toulouse were appointed by the assembled representatives of
all faculties, and Paris professors of theology were not chosen by the
board in its entirety but by the theologians resident in one or two univer-
sity colleges.

A similar public examination, known as the oposiciones, took place
in Spain. Here the statutes obliged universities to announce vacancies
to the other universities and to invite qualified scholars to apply. The
candidates had to prepare a commentary on a text agreed upon in
advance. The candidate judged most competent was elected. However,
here it was not the faculty board that decided but the entire academic
community, students included. The pitfalls of these elections were many.
Which students could vote for a position in a particular faculty? Who
was a student and who was not? etc. Moreover, the colegios mayores
employed a variety of tactics designed to secure victory for their own
members in the elections. The college of Santa Cruz, for instance, col-
lected from each of its members an annual tax of 100 reales for buying
student votes. It was even mentioned that professors at Salamanca had
used as voters ‘the absent and the dead’, while religious orders were
known to import brothers from distant convents to serve as voters when
an election threatened to be close. Moreover, elections were not decided
by votes alone. Bribery, corruption, violence and terrorism each played
an important role. And despite attempts by university officials and the
Royal Council to bring such practices to a halt, one seventeenth-century
witness to the chaos of Salamanca’s student elections wrote: ‘there is
not a life-tenured chair without one million mortal sins’.** It is indeed
understandable that the oposiciones became corrupt when we know
that, at the Valladolid law faculty, the number of applicants for a vacant
chair around 1700 was rarely less than thirty. Complaints in the Cortes
and elsewhere about these excessively corrupt and often violent student
elections led Philip IV in 1623 to order the Royal Council to take charge
of the selection of university instructors. This changeover became perma-
nent after 1641.

During the course of the early modern period not only the Castilian
but almost all the European universities had to accept increasing govern-
ment interference in their appointments. This is very clear in the newly
founded universities, for instance in the German Empire. Although some
of these German universities, in most cases the worst ones, still clung to

*4 Kagan, Students and Society, 167.

221

Peter A. Vandermeersch

their self-government, by 1760 authority over academic appointments
and promotions had in many universities become legally invested in the
state. The territorial princes had gradually usurped the universities’
ancient corporate privilege of recruiting their own staff, even though a
few institutions and individual faculties retained that right throughout
the century.”° But long before the eighteenth century in Germany, as well
as elsewhere, the civil authorities were already evaluating the quality of
candidates, although in many cases they were obliged to ask the opinion
of the faculty board. In Louvain, for instance, it was the town council
who appointed the professors, in Pavia it was the Senate of Milan, in
Ingolstadt and Tiibingen it was the duke, in Heidelberg the elector, in
Zaragoza the students and teachers as well as the city had a voice in
the elections, and in Edinburgh there was strong town control over the
appointments. In the case of Padua the Venetian Senate, beginning in
1517, established a special panel of three magistrates whose task was to
take over the administration of the university, a job that included the
right to appoint new instructors and to decide upon important matters
of the curriculum while, simultaneously, in Naples, university adminis-
tration was increasingly dominated by the Spanish viceroys. At Oxford
and Cambridge the crown also used its power and influence over the
appointment of heads of colleges to ensure that only acceptable candi-
dates were considered. Moreover, by founding ‘regius chairs’, endowed
and appointed by the crown, as happened for example in Oxford, Cam-
bridge, Paris and Louvain, the civil authorities strengthened their
positions.

Apparently the statutory rights of the university or the faculty to
nominate candidates to the appointing authority were ignored on
numerous occasions. One illustration of this is the case of the Spanish
king who ordered his Consejo de Castilla in 1799 to find a way of
appointing professors at Salamanca without any intervention from the
university. Even the advice of the prince’s own councillors was disre-
garded in some cases. In 1586, for example, the duke of Bavaria
appointed Kaspar Hell to the law faculty of the University of Ingolstadrt,
although his own council had said of this candidate that he ‘even did
not know either Bartolus or Baldus; he taught the most unlikely things;
he could not pronounce the words faultlessly; and, together with his
students, he went on pub-crawls’.*° But, on the other hand, these
examples of arbitrariness on the part of the authorities were not at all
common in every university. In most cases the university or the faculty
concerned was asked for its opinion, and the councillors of the prince

°> Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 511ff.
*© Wolff, Ingolstadter Juristenfakultat (note 21), 104.

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Teachers

were often themselves university professors or had at least studied at the
university. They therefore knew its situation quite well and were able to
make the appropriate decisions.

SOME GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE PROFESSORIATE

Briefly, the forces characterizing the professoriate were the following:
increasing laicization, increasing governmental control, increasing
religious control, increasing family and social influence, increasing
corporatism, and increasing provincialism. There are, however, some
major exceptions.

One of the main characteristics of the continental universities during
early modern times was undoubtedly the laicization of the professoriate.
(In England, on the other hand, university instructors had to be
clergymen.) In Paris, for instance, the medical faculty was secularized in
1452, as were the faculties of law and arts during the sixteenth century.
In 1553 Pope Julius II stated with regard to the canon law courses in
Heidelberg that a layman could be appointed professor if there were no
other appropriate candidates. This secularization meant that the church
lost a great deal of its control over the university in general and more
particularly over the professoriate, and this — as we shall see below —-
had important consequences on the social and economic position of the
professors, who were now married and had children.

This general tendency towards laicization did not mean that clerics
were totally excluded from teaching at the university. As described in
chapter 3 of this book, the importance of the Jesuit Order increased
during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Although they encoun-
tered considerable opposition from many faculties and universities, Jesu-
its succeeded in occupying important chairs of philosophy and theology
in many European Catholic universities, and even gained control of
entire faculties or universities. Apart from the Jesuits, the mendicant
orders, who occupied powerful positions in the medieval universities,
still possessed important chairs in Italy (for example Bologna), Spain
and France. At Toulouse each of the four mendicant orders was respon-
sible for the maintenance of a public chair of theology, and in mid-
seventeenth-century France other representatives held secular chairs as
well. The Dominicans, in particular, were prominent professors in many
theological faculties. Elsewhere, they taught regularly at Aix-en-
Provence, Bordeaux, Caen and Avignon. When a public chair was
founded in the latter university in 1655, the patent of foundation insisted
that a Dominican candidate be given preference, while the same stipu-
lations were made for a chair of philosophy (1666) and of moral the-
ology (1719). As far as France is concerned, only the public chairs at

223

Peter A. Vandermeersch

Paris and Angers were definitely never held by regular clergy.”’ And last
but not least we should not forget the German theological Protestant
faculties which played, certainly in the sixteenth and seventeenth centur-
ies, a very important role. Many professors from these faculties were
members of the consistories.

In discussing the duties and appointments of teachers, we have already
emphasized the increasing role played by the government in university
life. It should thus be clear that the teachers as a group and as individuals
had lost much of their (medieval) freedom. The professoriate no longer
had the same wide-ranging freedom to decide its own affairs. State com-
missioners were sent to the university to verify the professorial ortho-
doxy and diligence; chancellors appointed by the crown, such as William
Cecil (Cambridge 1559-98) ‘and William Laud (Oxford 1630-45),
involved themselves in the day-to-day control of the academic and
religious life of both senior and junior members of the universities; the
subjects to be taught were imposed by the government; the publications
of the professors were submitted to a governmental approbatio:** the
professor became a civil servant whose licentia docendi was controlled
and whose libertates, immunitates et honores were both guaranteed and
limited by the civil authorities.’ In some cases this intervention was very
intensive: at the University of Vienna, which became one of the leading
models for Catholic Germany in the second half of the eighteenth cen-
tury (following the examples of the ‘Reformed’ Wiirzburg, Ingolstadt
and Mainz), Gerard van Swieten was invited by the monarch to propose
reforms for the medical faculty. These included rigid control over the
faculty by a representative of the government, and regulation of instruc-
tion to the most minute detail, even to the extent of prescribing to the
professors which textbooks they were to use.*°

In Russia state control had specific characteristics. Control over the
University of St Petersburg was very despotic. This was partly due to its
proximity to the tsar’s residence, the Winter Palace. The main con-
straints the professors suffered from stemmed from the bureaucratic
system and the strivings of those in power to make science their slave.
The scholars of St Petersburg University ‘had to spend a lot of time and
energy organizing fireworks for court festivals or writing congratulatory
odes to the members of the tsar’s family and their favourites’.*! Some

*? Brockliss, French Higher Education, 34-5.

*8 For eighteenth-century Italy see, for instance, M. Roggero, ‘Professori e studenti nelle
universita tra crisi e riforme’, Storia d’Italia. Annali, 4 (Turin, 1981), 1070ff.

*? L. Boehm, ‘Libertas Scholastica und Negotium Scholare. Entstehung und Sozialprestige
des Akademischen Standes im Mittelalter’, in Universitat und Gelehrtenstand, 44ff.

°° McClelland, State, Society and University, 72.

31. B. I. Krasnobagev, Russkaya kultura vtocoy pohoviny XVII-nachala XVIII veka
(Moscow, 1983), 104.

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Teachers

professors delivered lectures to members of the tsar’s family, taught
Catherine II the Russian language and gave lessons to her grandchildren.
Transport and communication problems kept Moscow University,
founded in 1755 and located 600 km to the east of the capital, from
too frequent imperial interferences.

In short, as universities became instrumental in the schooling not only
of government officials but also of the noble elite, most of them lost
those rights to self-government that they still possessed. There are never-
theless two important points to be made here. In the first place, however
real this governmental and bureaucratic control may have been, it did
not mean that the local faculties had ceased to exercise power, for
instance Over appointments. These local faculties, or a few dominant
individuals in each, managed to retain considerable influence over prof-
essorial appointments, largely by default on the part of the state. For
example, Prussia’s bureaucratic control over its universities remained
remarkably ineffective throughout the eighteenth century, and except for
short periods of despotic intervention, it took little interest in superin-
tending its universities or in exploiting its authority over appointments.
In any case, the participation of the university in filling vacant chairs
had by no means disappeared and can be demonstrated throughout the
whole century.*? Although, occasionally, the state imposed controversial
professors upon a university against its will, on the whole the local cor-
porate faculty was successful in establishing the criteria to be used in
academic appointments. Secondly, it would be erroneous to presume
that state control automatically meant loss of quality for the university.
It is indeed noteworthy that many eighteenth-century university
reformers and critics did not condemn this interference. On the contrary!
One of the advocates of German enlightened despotism, Christoph Mei-
ners of the University of G6ttingen (where, on the one hand, the state
held tight control over all professorial appointments but guaranteed
absolute teaching freedom on the other) wrote approvingly that

the great Miinchhausen granted to our university the right to present and
to nominate or to recommend as little as he did the right of free selection,
because he knew through experience that although the faculties of univer-
sities know always the men who most deserve vacant chairs, they are
seldom or never inclined to propose the most capable whom they know.”

Christoph Martin Wieland wrote of the University of Erfurt that ‘it
would be highly beneficial to the university and to the prevention of

°2-C. Bornhak, Geschichte der preussischen Universitatsverwaltung bis 1810 (Berlin,
1900), 99-100; G. von Selle, Geschichte der Albertus-Universitat zu K6nigsberg in
Preussen (Wiirzburg, 1956), 158-61. Both works are quoted by Turner, ‘University
Reformers’ (note 7), 511.

33 Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 512.

225

Peter A. Vandermeersch

many abuses which have taken place, if the right of appointment was
vested in the prince in those faculties where the opposite custom now
prevails’.**

Finally, it is worth mentioning that the economic situation of the pro-
fessors was able to improve, thanks to the financial support of the
government. This was, for instance, the case at Uppsala in 1620, when
a large donation from Gustav II Adolph, king of Sweden, meant the
economic restoration of the university.

Another element that certainly characterized the professoriate during
our period was the confessional element. It is obvious that, from the
sixteenth century onwards, the authorities superintended the religious
position of students and professors. Oxford and Cambridge, for
example, were Anglican institutions where all members — students, fel-
lows, heads, tutors and public professors alike — had to subscribe to the
Act of Supremacy, acknowledging the sovereign as the head of the
Church of England, and to the Thirty-nine Articles of Religion of the
established Church. This meant that, from the sixteenth century, openly
professing Catholics and, from 1662, openly professing nonconformists
were barred from membership of these universities.

On the Continent there existed a similar situation. The majority of
the Lutheran and Calvinist universities required their teachers to swear
an oath of loyalty to the sovereign and the religion, while the Council
of Trent (1564) made the professio fidei obligatory for all members of
the Catholic universities. Some universities took even more specific meas-
ures. This was the case in Copenhagen where, from 1604 on, a ban
existed on the appointment of any person who had studied at a Jesuit
college.

It should, however, be emphasized that there existed great differences
in the degree of orthodoxy required. But even in the Dutch Republic
where, regarding the religion of their students, most universities showed
much greater tolerance than elsewhere, the teachers were required to
belong to the reformed religion almost everywhere. It is true that, during
the first decades of the existence of Leiden, not all of its teachers showed
the same enthusiasm as far as the reformed religion was concerned. The
law professor Thomas Zoesius, for example, confessed his Catholicism
openly and in 1593 accepted a professorship in the very Catholic Univer-
sity of Wiirzburg. But after his departure from Leiden the university
curators examined the faith of candidates more thoroughly. Still, in
1732, the nomination of the Lutheran Johann Gottlieb Heineccius was
refused at Leiden for religious reasons.*°

** Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 512.
°5 Frijhoff, Gradués, 56.

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Teachers

The orthodoxy of the professors was not only a decisive factor in
their appointment, but also one of the major reasons for the dismissal
of teachers. In the history of almost every individual university, one can
find examples of teachers being dismissed for this reason.

During the German Enlightenment, particulary in Halle and Got-
tingen, things began to change. In the latter, one of the leading Lutheran
universities of the eighteenth century, Gerlach Adolf von Miinchhausen
tried to avoid the acrimonious disputes among Protestant sects that had
been raging in Germany since the end of the seventeenth century. The
university statutes forbade denunciations of teachers for ‘heretical’
opinions. Miinchhausen sought further to guarantee the peace by
appointing doctrinally neutral professors of theology, even though the
theologians had to be good Lutherans. In this, one can see the germs of
the academic freedom which made Gottingen a popular place in which
the freedom to think, write and publish was unsurpassed.*°

Christian Chéne, who examined the reasons for the appointments of
fifty-nine professors of French Law during the period 1681-1793, con-
cluded that 15 per cent of these professors owed their appointment to
their fame as a lawyer only, 42 per cent to their service to the king of
France, and 34 per cent to their relations with famous persons; 36 per
cent of the fifty-nine candidates were notorious jurists before their
appointment.””

Reformers, indeed, frequently observed that professorial evaluations
ignored a candidate’s academic achievements and looked primarily at
his social and corporate acceptability. During the ancien régime this was,
of course, the case with almost every appointment. University teachers
were certainly no exception. The hand of a professor’s daughter was, in
this respect, a very important factor. The following scene from Salz-
mann’s Carl von Carlsberg may be significant: a young university
instructor complains about the fact that a chair has become vacant to
which he is entitled by seniority, but that the full professors in charge
seem cool towards him. ‘Indeed’, says a colleague, ‘you seem not to
know how one gets a chair here in Griinau... We have many pretty
professors’ daughters. Marry one! What does it matter? Things will go
better.’*®? The majority of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Euro-
pean universities had indeed become diseased by inbreeding. True
academic dynasties grew at several universities: in Copenhagen, it was
the Bartholin family that continued to supply sons and sons-in-law for
leading positions at the university; in Giessen, the descendants of the
theologian Mentzer, professor in Marburg and Giessen (1596-1624),

°6 McClelland, State, Society and University, 39-40.

>”? Chéne, L’Enseignement du droit francais (note 20), 30-41.
°8 Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 513.

227

Peter A. Vandermeersch

dominated the university, which became a typical family university
(Familienuniversitat) between 1650 and 1700; in Tiibingen, members of
the Wirtemberger family (fifteenth-sixteenth century), the Burckhard-
Bardili family (sixteenth-seventeenth century) and the Gmelin family
(eighteenth—nineteenth century) succeeded each other as professors and
administrators of the university; in Geneva seven members of the Tur-
rettini family occupied chairs for 170 years; in 1666 all but one of the
professors of the University of Basle were related to each other; in the
Edinburgh medical faculty six chairs changed hands between 1790 and
1800, with five of them going to sons of former professors, etc. It is
logical that several contemporaries decried the party spirit of the univer-
sity Senate. Family interests rank above the general interests of the uni-
versity: ‘The hereditary nature of the professoriate in one family was an
honourable tradition.’””

No wonder, then, that Frederick William I of Prussia chided his uni-
versity curators early in the eighteenth century, stating, ‘we do not wish
to conceal from you our resolution that in the future when professorial
posts become vacant you are to recommend to us only such people as
have earned fame and renown at other universities and as will make our
universities flourish and grow; and you are to ignore matters of kinship,
marriage, and the like’.*° In the Parisian faculty of law, a declaration of
1712 proclaimed that relatives once or twice removed could not be
accepted in the same faculty of law as professors (docteurs-régents and
agrégés).*"

Similar and successful attempts to revalue the university were made
in eighteenth-century Italy (for example, in Turin by Victor Amadeus II,
in Pavia by the Austrian government), and in Castile. In the latter Philip
V tried to put an end to the nepotism shown by the Royal Council in
filling university professorships. It is worth remembering that, in 1641,
this Council took over the right from the university to appoint the pro-
fessors because the student elections were too corrupt. But in practice
the Council abused its new powers by extending its already biased
methods of patronage and nepotism to university chairs. Teachers were
now appointed by Madrid for reasons often unrelated to their teaching
ability and were even virtually guaranteed promotion to the highest
chairs as a result of the bureaucratic practice of advancement by senior-
ity. Continuing mutual interest brought the Council and the colegios
mayores of Alcala, Salamanca and Valladolid ever closer together, and

°° U. J. Wandel, ‘“*...in allen Stiicken prudenter und reifflich eingerichtet”. Tiibinger
Reformversuche im 18. Jahrhundert’, in Decker—Hauff et al. (eds.), Beitrage zur Ge-
schichte Tubingen (note 15), 127.

*° Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 513.

41 Lemasne-Desjobert, La Faculté de droit de Paris (note 6), 19.

228

Teachers

a student lacking family ties with either college graduates, court dignitar-
ies, or influential noblemen normally found himself excluded from a
professorship.

We should be aware of the fact that these practices of inbreeding and
nepotism, however general and widespread, did not affect all universities
equally. Some individual faculties (like the Edinburgh faculty of medi-
cine in the years 1730-80) or some major universities like the two repub-
lican universities of Leiden and Padua in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, and the young universities of G6ttingen and Halle in the eight-
eenth were not much touched by them. These universities are known to
have chosen their professors with care, looking at the fame of the schol-
ars, their attainments in the discipline and their pedagogical skills,
although even in these cases almost every appointment was the subject
of much discussion, lobbying and recommendation.

Although the infrastructure of a university was important with respect
to the attraction of foreign students and tourists, the success of a univer-
sity depended to a great extent on the ability of its administrators to
hire and retain teachers of sufficient eminence, who could in turn attract
a — by preference rich and noble — student population large enough to
make the operation of the studium worth while and the teachers happy
to stay. One of the consequences of a shrinkage in the social basis for
recruitment, however, was the shrinkage of the geographical basis.
Indeed, inbreeding and nepotism, together with the international politi-
cal and religious constellation of Europe, were responsible for the disap-
pearance of the internationalism of medieval university teaching. This
disappearance of internationalism (or, in certain cases, of ‘inter-
provincialism’) was not absolute. In the law faculty of Ingolstadt, for
instance, a quarter of the teachers (1472-1625) were foreigners.** In the
same faculty of the University of Pavia (1499-1699) we can count 39
‘foreigners’, 69 teachers who were born in the duchy, and 117 professors
from the city of Pavia. A considerable number of sixteenth-century uni-
versities at least made attempts to attract some foreign professors. How-
ever, regulations giving preference to local citizens for appointment to
important professorships, or decrees imposing on academics an oath
never to accept any foreign position resulted in a diminishing number
of foreigners. Although in Italy, for instance, attempts to exclude all
categories of ‘foreigners’, Italian and otherwise, from these positions had
begun in the late Middle Ages, growing competition led gradually but
inexorably to the imposition of new and stricter requirements concern-
ing appointments to these valued posts. In 1624, for example, the duke
of Alba, Spain’s viceroy in Naples, decreed that Neapolitans be preferred

” Wolff, Ingolstadter Juristenfakultat (note 21), 98-9.

229

Peter A. Vandermeersch

in the opposizioni (concorst) for university professorships. In Padua, Per-
ugia and Pisa professorships were subject to similiar restrictions. Even
Bologna, a university with a long tradition of reserving four cattedre
eminente for foreign scholars, was ‘localized’: by the middle of the seven-
teenth century, Bolognese citizens monopolized all the teaching positions
at the university.*? In 1664 the papal legate in Bologna attributed the
decline in enrolments at that university, among other things, to the fact
that the university lacked foreign teachers and that the Bolognese pro-
fessors were incompetent.** Similiar things occurred in Prussia, where
some edicts forbade prominent professors from resigning from their
Prussian posts in order to accept more lucrative calls elsewhere in Germ-
any. ‘A Professor Schmauss at Halle was able to accept a call to Got-
tingen in 1744 only by informing authorities that he had purchased
another apartment in Halle, loading up his wagon with household
goods, and then driving rapidly across the border.” No wonder that
the Konigsberg University Chancellor Korff complained in 1768: ‘The
natives do not go out; outsiders do not come in; hence everything here
remains slack and complacent.’*®

These complaints reflect very well the change in the professoriate
during the early modern period. In the sixteenth century professors con-
sidered themselves to be members of the République des Lettres, mem-
bers of an international community that ignored national frontiers. But
at the end of that century a change began that led to the Nationalgelehrte
that was so typical of the eighteenth century.

The shrinking territorial basis of recruitment is reflected in the dimin-
ishing peregrinatio academica of the professors. If we look at the places
where teachers studied before being appointed, it is clear that, with some
notorious exceptions, the future professors studied at fewer and fewer
foreign universities during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Of
course, there were exceptions here also. Some individuals travelled
through half of Europe and studied at several universities before
accepting an appointment as professor. Moreover, it is clear that some
new universities, like the Academia Carolina at Lund (founded 1666/8),
at least during the first decades following its foundation, could depend
on a professoriate that had studied at foreign universities.

In the seventeenth-century Swiss universities of Basle (which had an
international reputation in the sixteenth century), Geneva and Berne,
where the professoriate had close ties with the city governments, there
were virtually no foreign teachers or even teachers from outside the

* R. L. Kagan, ‘Universities in Italy 1500-1700’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 169.

Kagan, ‘Universities in Italy’ (note 43), 171.
Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 509.
Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 508.

+ $f
n NH

230

Teachers

canton (aufSerkantonale) left. In Louvain a local student had, in the sev-
enteenth century, twice as many chances of being appointed as his fellow
students, in the eighteenth century almost four times as many.

There are, however, examples of measures taken to counteract this
tendency. To build up a successful university required the ability to
attract capable professors and some famous ones in all faculties. There-
fore, in younger universities, like that of Marburg, the state tried to
ensure that salaries were competitive with those at more renowned, older
universities. This policy is very clear at Leiden where Janus Dousa, the
first president of the board of curators, built up the university by
methods which have become familiar in our own century, attracting dis-
tinguished foreign scholars to the university by offering them high salar-
ies and low teaching loads (in the first fifteen years appointments in
theology went to three Frenchmen, two Germans and three Southern
Netherlanders).

The same thing happened in Gottingen, where Miinchhausen used the
elector’s political influence to obtain the release of professors from the
service of other rulers. He paid moving expenses, arranged for pro-
fessors’ housing, and otherwise made an offer from G6ttingen almost
irresistible. He personally supervised the recruitment of the professors.
Beyond Leiden and Gottingen, similar attempts to restore an inter-
national professoriate were merely token in Padua (seventeenth century),
Turin (1720-30), and in other universities. In the 1558 statutes of the
University of Heidelberg the elector stated with emphasis that, with
respect to appointments, the students of Heidelberg would receive no
priority over others ‘to avoid the ruin of the studium or the shrinking
of its reputation’. Unfortunately, this situation changed radically in the
eighteenth century when the electors obliged the university to appoint
candidates from within its own ranks.

The situation in eighteenth-century Russia was quite different. In the
first decades following its foundation in 1724, the Academy of St Peters-
burg met with serious difficulties. Only a few students knew Latin and
were able to understand the lectures. It was also impossible to find cap-
able teaching staff. The Russian government therefore looked for teach-
ers from European universities. A number of young scholars such as
Leonhard Euler, Joseph Nicolas Delisle, Gottlieb Siegfried Bayer, Johan
Simon Beckenstein, Georg Wolfgang Krafft, Johann Georg Gmelin,
Josias Weibrecht and others responded to the proposal and signed con-
tracts.*” With their help, a grammar school and a university soon came
into existence on the banks of the Neva. This co-operation bore fruit.

47 E. S. Kulyabko, M. V. Lomonosov i uchebnaya deyatelnost Peterburgskoy Academii
nauk (Moscow/Leningrad, 1962), 39.

Peter A. Vandermeersch

Evaluating the aid given by European scholars to St Petersburg Univer-
sity and the Academy of Sciences at the time of their foundation, the
President of the USSR Academy of Sciences, S. I. Vavilov, noted that,
in the history of culture ‘you can hardly find another example of such
prompt and effective cultivation of science’.** Two decades after its foun-
dation, the University of St Petersburg had a competent professoriate.
Russian professors working there had been trained in St Petersburg and
had improved their qualifications abroad — at Strasburg, Paris or Leiden.
Among them was an outstanding Russian scholar, Mikhail Vasilyevich
Lomonosov, rector of St Petersburg University. Some of Lomonosov’s
best students became the first professors at Moscow University.

As far as the recruitment of foreign and famous professors is con-
cerned, one should bear in mind the fact that this was almost always a
matter of money. As we shall see below, these foreign professors had to
be paid better than the others. Smaller universities could not afford this
at all. They even had difficulty in paying their own professors a small
salary. But the lack of money was not the only reason why universities
found good scholars difficult to recruit. The traditional emphasis upon
teaching conflicted with new scholarly ideas emphasizing the importance
of scientific enquiry and experimentation. In contrast, court academies,
such as those established in Bologna, Florence, Naples, Parma and many
other cities, generally put enquiry and experimentation ahead of instruc-
tion. It is not surprising, therefore, that some famous scholars generally
preferred a place in one of these academies to a chair at a university
where there was little opportunity to do anything but teach.*”

UNIVERSITY TEACHING, A WELL-PAID PROFESSION?

In Spain the Cortes of 1627 stated:

Nowadays the lack of premios for letters, and the expenses of the times
and the shortage of students in the universities are so notable, and the
stipends and salaries of the professors so much below what they used to
be, that, as a result, wise, serious scholars cannot persevere in the univer-
sities but look for other positions more suitable for their support.*°

In his Oratio de academiis, the Utrecht professor Reitz (1767) expressed
the wish that salaries should be sufficient to enable one to live with the
necessary dignity and to buy the necessary scientific books.*' In 1599

48'S. I. Vavilov, ‘Academia nauk SSSR i razvitiye otechestvennoy nauki’, Vestnik Academii
nauk SSSR, 2 (1949), 41.

* Kagan, ‘Universities in Italy’ (note 43), 174~-5.

°° Kagan, Students and Society, 174.

! J. Roelevink, Gedicteerd verleden. Het onderwijs in de algemene geschiedenis aan de
universiteit te Utrecht, 1735-1839 (Amsterdam/Maarssen, 1986), 48-9.

Teachers

the Louvain professors complained that their salary was too low to keep
a servant.” The chair of a professor of French law in Bordeaux was so
ill paid that ‘it was difficult to find teachers who could dedicate them-
selves to this job and do it with satisfaction’.°? Professors at the Uni-
versity of Rostock responded to a government rescript, ordering them
actually to hold their public lectures, with the complaint that their salar-
ies, low as they were, were seldom actually paid.°* In 1699 Juan Angelo
de Azpetegui, one of the few remaining ‘foreign’ professors at Pavia,
complained that he had not been paid in over six years, while a report
(1711) on the state of this university indicated that a professorial salary
was so low that ‘most of the teachers could not live from it’.°’ Every-
where in Europe, professors complained about their salaries.

Judging by these spirited exchanges, the rewards for teaching were far
from satisfactory. Was teaching at a university indeed such an ill-paid
job? This depended on many factors, among them the economic situ-
ation of the university, the city or the state, the importance of the faculty
or the chair, the fame of the teacher, his age, his experience and the
number of students.

As far as the structure and economic situation of a university are con-
cerned, some older universities like the Oxford colleges, Paris and Salam-
anca had their own patrimony, resources and income from interest; in
others professors possessed prebends; in a third group of universities
teachers had to rely on fees from students or graduates; others had to
fall back on city or government salaries. Moreover, many universities
remunerated professors with goods and privileges, in addition to salar-
ies, fees, honoraria and other forms of money income. The Heidelberg
scholar, Janus Gruterus, was only willing to accept an appointment at
Franeker if he was given a cart-load of wine a year and if he could live
in a house with a garden... Firewood, food products turned over to
the university by a tenant farmer, or licences granted to the professors to
maintain beer and wine cellars for public sales are examples of common
non-monetary remuneration. Last but not least, teachers could enjoy tax
benefits or other privileges at several universities. In Pavia, for instance,
professors could not be forced to house soldiers and were exempted
from taxes on their property in the state of Milan. This exemption was
a major source of income for most of the professors.

In any case, until the eighteenth century university professors lived
largely from prebends and fees, not from their salaries, although,

‘2 F, Claeys-Bouuaert, L’Ancienne Université de Louvain. Etudes et documents (Louvain,
1956), 82.

°3 Chéne, L’Enseignement du droit francais (note 20), 106.

4 McClelland, State, Society and University, 89.

°° Kagan, ‘Universities in Italy’ (note 43), 171.

299

Peter A. Vandermeersch

because of growing laicization, the number of the professores salariati
increased at the expense of the professores beneficiati. Even as the preb-
end system died away and the state intervened ever more in the financial
(and administrative and political) life of the universities, the older uni-
versities still relied heavily on endowments of various kinds. Géttingen
was in fact the first German university to have no endowment at all and
thus to be totally dependent on state budgets and student fees for its
maintenance.

Having to rely on student fees was of course dangerous. As this source
of income diminished, many teachers found themselves in severe finan-
cial straits. Successful teachers like Luther and Melanchthon who had
audiences of 400-600 men at Wittenberg (1520), or like Alciatus, who
is said to have had 600 students in Bologna (1539), certainly had a good
life. But their colleagues at the University of Heidelberg, where in 1525
there were more teachers than students, were less fortunate. As late as
1720 some 4,400 students had matriculated in the various German uni-
versities. But from the mid-century on, the level of matriculation
dropped precipitously to 3,400 in 1790 and plummeted to 2,900 in
1800.°° Professors, especially those in the faculties of arts or philosophy,
who depended heavily upon student fees to supplement their small
government salaries, got into trouble. The system as a whole meant con-
stantly diminishing funds with which to attract competent teachers. In
short, for some of them, teaching at a university was, as Goethe said, a
‘hoffnungsloze Existenz’ (a hopeless existence).°”

On the other hand, the class fee system could encourage the professor
to keep himself in business as a teacher. In his Wealth of Nations, Adam
Smith agreed that it would be undesirable to increase the salaries of
the professors, a move which might ‘render them less attentive to the
instruction of their students, or independent of the emolument arising
from a diligent performance of their duty’. In Edinburgh, where in 1800
five medical professors received no salary at all, the class fee system of
professorial speculation in the academic marketplace indeed encouraged
professors to badger the town council for improved teaching facilities.°®

Because student numbers affected the income of the professor, the
prestige and the income derived from chairs in the lower faculties
declined rapidly in the seventeenth to eighteenth centuries when second-
ary schools began to usurp the propaedeutic function of the arts faculty.
At Prussia’s Frankfurt-on-Oder in 1721, salaries in the faculty of philos-
ophy ranged from 100 to 175 thaler yearly, while those in the theologi-

°© Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 497-8.

°7 Hammerstein, ‘Universitaten und gelehrte Institutionen’ (note 9), 317.

8 J. B. Morrell, ‘Medicine and Science in the Eighteenth Century’, in G. Donaldson (ed.),
Four Centuries of Edinburgh University Life 1583-1983 (Edinburgh, 1983), 41.

234

Teachers

cal, law and medical faculties amounted respectively to 338-557, 200-
500, and 100-300 thaler per year. Furthermore, although professors in
the higher faculties could supplement their income by practising the pro-
fession they taught, professors in the faculty of philosophy usually had
no auxiliary calling open to them except secondary teaching.’ The fac-
ulty in which the professor taught therefore affected his income to a
great extent. If the economic situation of the university, the faculty or
the college in which he taught was decisive for the income of a teacher,
the nature of his subject also affected each professor financially. If we
return to our Edinburgh example, we see that the professors who taught
the practice of medicine, chemistry or anatomy enjoyed a large income
from class fees which, by skilful teaching, they could hope to increase.
Professors of less popular subjects, such as botany and materia medica,
received considerably less. This wide disparity of remuneration from
class fees spurred ambitious professors to transfer to what they hoped
would be more lucrative chairs.®° But even in the universities where pro-
fessors were salaried, there existed great differences of income between
the various chairs and in professorial status. The newly founded pro-
fessorships at the English universities, where, of course, the bulk of
teaching was provided by fellows who received stipends not from the
university but from their own colleges, may illustrate this: throughout
the first half of the eighteenth century, the professorship of chemistry at
Cambridge carried no stipend whatsoever. In a move towards sup-
porting the incumbent, the university legitimized the fees he charged his
students for the course of lectures and demonstrations. As a result,
incumbents lectured when they felt so inclined or when they needed
money; the Linacre lectureships for medicine (founded 1524) were pro-
vided with a sum of £6-12 a year. By the late seventeenth century,
inflation had so eroded the value of this sum that the electors treated
the lectureships as mere plums to be distributed among the college fel-
lows; at the other extreme, at Oxford the Savilian professors (geometry
and astronomy, founded in 1619) received £160 a year; in Cambridge
the Lucasian (mathematics, 1663) and Plumian (astronomy, experimen-
tal philosophy, 1704) chairs were endowed with £100 a year. No
wonder, then, that all four of these positions attracted a distinguished
series of incumbents in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
Finally, other factors which certainly affected the salary of a teacher
were his fame, his personal skills and his experience. In general, foreign
teachers received a salary that exceeded that of the other professors. In
the University of Pavia (fifteenth century) 30-50 per cent of the teachers

°°? Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 499.
6° Morrell, ‘Medicine and Science’ (note 58), 41-2.

235

Peter A. Vandermeersch

had an income that did not exceed 50 frorini (about the wage of a skilled
labourer) while about 5 per cent had salaries ranging from 600 to 2,000
fiorini.®' These significant differences in the salaries of teachers grew
even more marked in the seventeenth century. Although most of the
Italian universities had to cope with a financial crisis, authorities pre-
ferred to attract one or two famous professors with a high salary while
the others received what was virtually a starvation wage. In seventeenth-
century Rome some teachers were paid 700 scudi, whereas others had
to content themselves with 40-60 scudi.

All these factors render it fairly difficult to make any general statement
about the salaries of teachers, but with the necessary reservations we
may say that the ordinary professors at the larger universities had a good
income. In his study of the German law faculties (fifteenth-sixteenth
century), Burmeister states that the Maximalgrenze of the salaries of law
professors increased in the course of the sixteenth century from roo fl.
(c. 1520) to 200 fl. (c. 1540) and 300 fl. (c. 1560). Some professors,
like the decretist of Wittenberg (1565: 350 fl.), received an even higher
salary. “These salaries were not at all starvation wages, as sometimes is
claimed.’® And this was not only the case at the German law faculties.
We know that teachers at the Lutheran universities of Uppsala and Lund
were fairly well paid in the seventeenth century; this was, for instance,
also the case for the majority of the ordinary professors at the Dutch
universities; teachers at Salamanca, Alcala and Valladolid were men of
comfortable means (in the sixteenth century their average salary was
500 ducates, or five times the income of a master artisan). As pointed
out above, the same can be said of some English salaries, some other
individual universities, and some individual chairs or professors. At the
eighteenth-century French faculties of law, professors received on aver-
age 2,000 to 3,000 livres, at Dijon and Paris as much as 6,000 to 8,000
(on the eve of the Revolution it is generally assumed that an income of
400 livres was required to provide a man and his family with the bare
essentials of life), and although, with the exception of Montpellier and
Paris, professors of theology and medicine seldom received more than
1,000 livres, they could easily double their salaries as beneficiaries, medi-
cal practitioners, or by giving (well-paid) consilia.°* We must also take
into account the fact that many teachers had an auxiliary income as
lawyers, preachers, presidents of colleges, members of a university or
faculty board, librarians, private teachers, etc. A professor regens of the
Louvain faculty of theology, for example, received for his post on the
faculty board an income that ranged from twice to five times his salary

*' Roggero, ‘Professori e studenti’ (note 28), 1042.

62 Burmeister, Das Studium der Rechte (note 5), 165.
°§ Brockliss, French Higher Education, 44.

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Teachers

as a teacher; Adrien Delcourt, professor of Holy Scripture at Douai in
1717-40, more than doubled his income by also being seminary presi-
dent and prévot of the chapter of Saint-Pierre; and Johan Bilmark (d.
1801), who had been for thirty-eight years professor at Abo (Finland),
was at the moment of his death praeses or supervisor of no fewer than
229 dissertations.“ Consequently, we have to conclude that the financial
situation of many teachers was by no means precarious.

On the other hand, it is a fact that many seventeenth- and eighteenth-
century (particularly provincial) universities had problems attracting a
teaching staff consisting entirely of first-class professors because the job
was not paid well enough and was certainly not paid regularly enough.
In his general enquiry into the state of professorial salaries in eighteenth-
century France, the procureur général Joly de Fleury remarked that salar-
ies of some men were ‘absolutely insufficient to live from’ and he added
that ‘the modesty of their treatment threw them [the professors] into
poverty, capable of placing their profession in disrespect’.®

As shown in the introduction to this section (p. 232), the same com-
plaints can be heard in every country. Moreover, one has to take into
account the fact that, because of the laicization of the professoriate
during early modern times, many teachers were married and had famil-
ies. Even if their salary was sufficient for the teacher himself, this does
not mean it was sufficient for the whole of his family.

In universities where the job was very badly paid it is obvious that —
and this was especially the case in the sixteenth and seventeenth centur-
ies — professors devoted only a relatively small portion of their time to
teaching activities and sought to enlarge their income by accepting other
positions within or outside the university. At Erfurt in 1778 half of the
professors in the lower faculty held second posts in the local schools,
while another third held other simultaneous chairs in the professional
faculties.°° Classes were regularly entrusted to substitutes who, accord-
ing to several reports, were second-rate men who neglected their lectures
and frequently failed to cover the assigned material. Meanwhile, many
professors made a habit of offering private tuition to fee-paying students,
often reserving the most substantial subjects for these privatissima. The
classes competed directly with those offered by the universities, and
although the latter tried to forbid such practices, students abandoned
the universities in favour of the lettori privati.®’ Some other professors
held a private practice which could guarantee them a considerable
income. J. D. Michaelis of Géttingen reported that not only did pro-

Klinge, Kuningliga Akademien, 100, 165-7.
Lemasne-Desjobert, La Faculté de droit de Paris (note 6), 28.
Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 507.

Kagan, ‘Universities in Italy’ (note 43), 172-3.

237

Peter A. Vandermeersch

fessors of medicine, theology and law commonly maintain private prac-
tices, but also that their university salaries were set correspondingly low
in the expectation that they would do so. Alciatus even claims that his
law practice brought in 600 fl. a year. In order to hold a practice, many
instructors neglected their teaching. In 1681 two of the medical instruc-
tors of Parma, for instance, were so busy outside the university that they
did not bother to turn up for class at all.°* A third group, regarding
their chair as a step towards public office, went in search of another job
(see below, p. 242).

If we consider all this by-work it is not at all surprising that absentee-
ism was common among all university instructors throughout the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries. In 1648 at Salamanca one complains:
‘it is very rare that a chair in arts held by a Colegial Mayor is read
continuously for a year, some do not even read for a month, others two
days’.®’ And in Ingolstadt (1586) it even went so far that ‘many students.
had said they were eager to see one or other professor in person once’.””

In short, the modest salaries of some teachers were responsible for the
fact that these teachers did not pay sufficient attention to their teaching
duties. The only way to prevent this neglect was to raise the salaries.
From the sixteenth century onwards, several university officials and
other enlightened people tried to convince the responsible authorities of
the necessity for this. It is no coincidence that the universities at which
professors did not have these financial problems, such as Leiden in the
seventeenth century, were able to expand and enjoyed a good scientific
reputation. Nor is it a coincidence that the requalificazione of the Italian
professoriate in the eighteenth century is directly linked to the fact that
wages were raised or at least regularly paid. This was, for instance, the
case in Turin under Victor Amadeus II and in Pavia. In the latter, pro-
fessors received in the last quarter of the eighteenth century about 2,000
lire (in the same period, principal state executives received 10,000 lire,
middle-level executives 3,000 lire).”* The same occurred in other count-
ries. At Kénigsberg, the government forbade professors to hold subsidi-
ary functions, in a well-meaning effort to force the professoriate to pay
full attention to academic affairs. Unfortunately, here the government
did not take the next logical step by increasing the salaries of the pro-
fessors. This nevertheless occurred in Vienna, where reformers like Arch-
bishop Trautson were well aware of the fact that one could not attract
‘wackere Manner, ohne guten Gehalt und Ehrentitel’ (clever people
without a good salary and honorary titles). Furthermore, they had to be

°® Kagan, ‘Universities in Italy’ (note 43), 172.

Quoted in Kagan, Students and Society, 156-7.
Burmeister, Das Studium der Rechte (note 5), 177.
Roggero, ‘Professori e studenti’ (note 28), 1072.

69
70
71

238

Teachers

offered a place in the ‘Hofrat’ (which was an official title with consider-
able social esteem, although it did not mean that they actually became
councillors). In this way professors finally gained esteem and respect.”
But this was not the case for all professors. For instance, it is clear that,
owing to the fact that teachers of the Society of Jesus and other Catholic
orders could not apply for such honorary posts, there was a clear dis-
tinction between Catholics and Protestants. Moreover, here again the
professors of law rather than their colleagues from the philosophical
faculties, enjoyed this prerogative.

CAREERS AND MOBILITY

In general, we may state that during the early modern period there was
a growing tendency towards specialization in teaching. Until the end of
the sixteenth century and even during the seventeenth century, it was not
at all exceptional for a single professor to teach, for example, Hebrew,
medicine, theology and law. The development of the different sciences,
however, forced the professors and scholars to concentrate on the study
of one particular science or even of one particular specialization,
although there are many exceptions to this rule. Obviously, this develop-
ment was most pronounced at the largest universities, which could rely
on a large and diverse professoriate. In the numerous smaller universit-
ies, one or two professors were in principle obliged to teach the entire
curriculum of a faculty; but in the bigger universities, too, and even
during the eighteenth century, some professors taught in different facul-
ties. Let us, for instance, refer to Miinchhausen’s words ‘Monopolia
sollen nicht sein’ (there will not be a monopoly). As we shall see below,
specialization among university professors was also hampered by finan-
cial or institutional factors.

This general tendency towards specialization, however, did not mean
that teachers could not build up a career at a university or that they did
not change chairs. As we have already indicated, there were several kinds
of chairs and professorial status, with variable prestige and different
salaries. Depending on the university, on the kind of chair the professor
occupied and on the way in which teachers were paid (professors who
had a prebend were almost always appointed for life, even if it was
theoretically possible to replace them), they were appointed either for
life or for a fixed term.

During the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries there was
increasing criticism of life-tenured professorships or fellowships. In

7 N. Hammerstein, ‘Zur Geschichte der Deutschen Universitat im Zeitalter der Aufkla-
rung’, in Universitat und Gelehrtenstand, 145-81.

239

Peter A. Vandermeersch

Spain, where senior professors were appointed for life, a petition to the
Cortes (1528) stated:

We ask Your Majesty that the chairs at the estudios of Salamanca and
Valladolid be granted not for life but only temporarily as they are in Italy
and other places, because, when they are life-tenured many problems and
troubles arise, especially among those professors who, once they have
taken possession of their chair, do not care to study nor to help the stud-
ents. But when the chairs are temporary, there are many benefits because
the readers seek to be returned to the chair, to increase their salaries and
to have larger student attendance.”

Although in many newer Spanish universities even the senior professors
were appointed for a fixed term, it was not until 1771 that all life-
tenured positions were transformed into short-term regencies. In other
countries such as Germany, appointments were seldom made for life but
varied from one to five years. Some universities like Heidelberg even
forbade life-tenured professorships.’* It thus seems natural that only 29
per cent of the law professors of Ingolstadt (1472-1625) stayed in ser-
vice for more than ten years; 17 per cent taught less than a year; 22 per
cent one to three years; 13 per cent three to six years; 20 per cent six
to ten years.”°

In many universities teachers had to content themselves initially with
a chair in the faculty of arts. After spending some years in this faculty
they tried to obtain a chair in a higher faculty. Only in the eighteenth
century was a career as professor in the artes regarded as a professorship
of full value. Others started their teaching careers as an extraordinarius
or Privatdozent working their way up the professorial hierarchy and
hoping to obtain a better-paid chair as professor ordinarius as soon as
possible. Once ordinarius in a given faculty, one had to try to occupy
the better-paid chairs or the chair with the highest prestige. Not surpris-
ingly, the rate of turnover in the lower faculties and the temporary chairs
was the highest. This system (called ascenso) was even institutionalized
in Spain. The ascenso created an academic ladder in each faculty, rang-
ing from the lowest catedrilla to the highest chair. In order to avoid
time-consuming competition and vacancies during the oposiciones,
instructors were simply moved up the ladder one rung at a time as their
superiors vacated their positions. When it officially became law in 1716,
the ascenso created a situation in which instructors were promoted upon
seniority rather than merit. One critic expressed the view that ‘In order
to be a professor at Salamanca, it is not necessary to study but to live

73 Kagan, Students and Society, 164.
4 Burmeister, Das Studium der Rechte (note 5), 162.
> Wolff, Ingolstadter Juristenfakultdt (note 21), 97-8.

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Teachers

longer than the others; years make catedrdticos, not merits’. The same
sometimes occurred in other universities, although this was not the rule.
If some senior teacher, for example, left the University of Pavia, the
Senate of Milan from time to time decided not to fill his chair but to
appoint a junior professor at the bottom of the whole hierarchy. All
the others were then promoted one step. This meant that some teachers
changed chairs two or three times a year and consequently could not
apply themselves properly to their specified subjects. But in other cases
the instructors constantly changed chairs in search of a better income.
In his Relazione (1735), the university reformer Galiani mentions the
instance of a Neapolitan university professor who, hoping to increase
his income, taught successively theology, philosophy, canon law and
finally civil law.

The attitudes of the teachers towards their job differed from country
to country, from university to university and of course were determined
by the way professors were paid. In general, we can distinguish two
different perceptions of university teaching as a career.

A first group saw it as a real career. As described above, they stayed
at the university and tried to work their way up, or they travelled from
one university to another. In Franeker, for instance, only 21 out of the
177 professors (1585-1811) left their professorship for another job
(12.3 per cent). Forty-three other individuals found a teaching job at
another university. In other words: about 88 per cent of the Franeker
teachers considered their professorship a life-long career and 66 per cent
of them stayed within the walls of the relatively small Franeker Univer-
sity.”° In Louvain, of a total of some 954 professors (1501-1750), about
191 teachers (20 per cent) (more especially arts and to a lesser degree
law professors) left the university:’’ they went to other universities, were
appointed bishops, councillors and judges, etc. Owing to an important
nomination privilege of the faculty of arts, many professors of this par-
ticular Louvain faculty succeeded in obtaining a prebend and thus left
the university. But even if one-fifth of the Louvain professors went else-
where, 80 per cent of them stayed. In short, there certainly was a signifi-
cant proportion of university teachers who considered the professoriate
as a life-long career. Once they had gained their chair, they stayed at
the university until they died or moved to another. This was the case in
the Netherlands, amongst other places — as the above examples show —
but also (as far as the régents ordinaires are concerned) in France: in
the mid-seventeenth century, Jean d’Avezan taught law at Orléans for
thirty-three years; in the second half of the eighteenth century, the Irish-

7° F, Smit, ‘Over honderdzevenenzeventig Franeker professoren’, in G. Jensma, F. Smit

and F. Westra (eds.), Universiteit te Franeker 1585-1811 (Leeuwarden, 1985), 105-7.
7” Roegiers, ‘Professorencarriéres’ (note 19), 238.

241

Peter A. Vandermeersch

man John Plunkett taught theology at the Paris Collége de Navarre for
thirty-seven; while one Montpellier medical professor, Jean Chastelain,
began a teaching career in 1669 that lasted for almost half a century.”

Finally, we must mention that there existed not only a hierarchy of
professorships but also of universities relative to one another. Teachers
constantly tried to find a post at a more famous university.

In other parts of Europe, however, a professorship was still not a fully
developed career at the end of the eighteenth century, but was considered
as a single step in a career. The situation in seventeenth-century Spain
is illustrative of this attitude. As we have already pointed out, absentee-
ism of university instructors was one of the main problems faced by the
Spanish universities. Apart from illness, the major cause of this problem
was personal business which interfered with university duties. For many
professors (particularly law professors), conflicts arose especially from
negotiation concerning public offices, which necessitated extended trips
to Madrid. The colegiales, keenly interested in these appointments, read-
ily abandoned their chairs. This indifference of college professors
towards teaching stemmed from the belief that a university chair was
not an end in itself but a passport to public office. In a letter to Philip
V, the University of Salamanca explained this attitude in the following
way: ‘The colegiales regard their chair as an honorary title and as a step
to the Office, and they neglect their instruction. It happens that today
among the six professors of law...it can be said that only
one... teaches; the others, who are Colegiales Mayores, some for lack
of ability, others for various pretexts, do not attend their classes.’”’ In
short, a professorship in Spain constituted only a means of finding a
plaza de asiento rather than being a position worthy of serious attention
in itself. The concept of a university chair as something permanent was
forgotten. The Spanish faculties of arts and theology, staffed increasingly
by clerics little interested in worldly careers, were in this respect better
off than the faculties of law. By the seventeenth century, the law instruc-
tor who did not leave his university post for clerical or secular office
was rare indeed, and so rapid was his recruitment that many teaching
posts regularly changed hands once or twice a year. This exodus was
spurred by falling professional incomes, the result of a decline in univer-
sity rents and a drop in the student population which, in turn, reduced
the professors’ fees. With respect to this Spanish situation Kagan con-
cludes: ‘In sum, the university had lost many of its teachers and until the
monarchy altered its policies of recruitment and professors developed

78 Brockliss, French Higher Education, 46.
” Kagan, Students and Society, 156-7.

242

Teachers

a sense of dedication to their students, lectures went unread while the
classrooms remained practically deserted.’*°

Similar complaints, lamenting the lack of professorial seriousness,
were still heard in the 1830s with regard to the English system of fellow-
ships introduced during the previous centuries. In the Edinburgh
Review, William Hamilton argued:

The fellow who in general undertakes the office [of tutor] and continues
the longest to discharge it, is a clerical expectant whose hopes are bounded
by a college living and who, until the wheel of promotion has moved
round, is content to relieve the tedium of a leisure life by the interest of
an occupation, and to improve his income by its emoluments. Thus it is
that tuition is not engaged in as an important, arduous, responsible and
permanent occupation; but lightly viewed and undertaken as a matter of
convenience, a business by the by, a state of transition, a stepping-stone
to something else.*?

There was indeed no career structure for the majority of the college
fellows who, after some ten to fifteen years of study and teaching, moved
on to a church living as full-time clerics.

Applying these complaints to what we have said about salaries and
auxiliary jobs, we are forced to conclude that during the early modern
period in general, professorial life had become a ‘career’ (in the nine-
teenth-century sense) only for those academics who looked on teaching
as a full-time occupation. ‘As the professorate had not become a career,
so the professor had not yet become distinguished by any specific schol-
arly or pedagogical expertise which differentiated him sharply from mere
practitioners of the discipline he taught.’

In any case, there was a great deal of interaction between the univer-
sity and the world of practitioners on the one hand and between the
various universities on the other. Methods of recruitment led to the same
conclusion. Of a total of 71 professors appointed at Harderwijk after
1648 and whose former occupation is known, 22 had already taught in
another university or school. Eleven former advocates, 12 rectors of
Latin schools and 15 physicians were also appointed. Professorial
recruitment thus tended to be not only ‘vertical’, through junior pro-
fessors working their way up, but also ‘horizontal’, through men
recruited directly from private and professional life: 61 per cent of the
professors who taught French law at the southern universities of France

(1681-1793) were recruited in this way.®°
8° Kagan, Students and Society, 175.

Engel, ‘Emerging Concepts’ (note 22), 314-5.

Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 507.

Chéne, L’Enseignement du droit francais (note 20), 59.

81
82
83

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Peter A. Vandermeersch

Thus, a distinguished doctor, lawyer or teacher might be invited into
the university corporation. Some of these men would then hold their
chair as a lucrative or honorary post while maintaining their professional
practice. But others certainly applied themselves to their duties as teach-
ers or academics. In many cases, the recruitment of these practitioners
stimulated the activities of a faculty or a university. On the other hand,
many universities could not but regret the loss of their most famous
teachers, who preferred to leave the university for another job (especially
at the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth
centuries). The German law faculties, for instance, lost Bonifaz Amer-
bach (Basle), Joachim Mynsinger (Freiburg), Claudius Cantiuncula
(Vienna), Viglius (Ingolstadt), Johann Apel (Wittenberg), all of whom
were professors who not only attracted many students but also raised
the standards of teaching. However, not only law faculties lost a lot of
good teachers. Several famous theologians also left the university to
become bishops.**

PROFESSORS, A DISTINCT AND DISTINGUISHED SOCIAL CLASS?

As already stated in the introduction to this chapter, we lack studies
about the professorial corps as a social group. The material available
does not always allow us to answer clearly the question as to whether
or not the professoriate was a distinct and distinguished social group.
One can even ask whether it is possible to examine the professoriate as
a separate socio-economic and professional class. We have indeed
argued that, in many cases, university teachers did not or could not
consider their job as a full career. The following remarks therefore con-
cern only that part of the teaching corps able to make a living from their
teaching.

If we examine the position of the professors within the university it
is clear that, towards the end of the Middle Ages, there was a growing
gap between teachers and students. Owing to the increasing importance
of professores salariati et beneficiati, professors were less and less depen-
dent on student fees. In England the corporation of regent masters, with
its democratic constitution, was modified by degrees or replaced by a
more oligarchic rule exercised by the heads of colleges. The medieval
corporation of masters and students together grew gradually weaker and
finally separated into two distinct groups: those who taught and those
who were taught.® The former tried to protect and guard their preroga-
tives, income and power as much as possible. Beyond considerations of

°* Burmeister, Das Studium der Rechte (note 5), 171ff.
8° See also chapter 8.

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the candidate’s social, economic and family position, elections were
further troubled by corporate and financial concerns. In England com-
plaints about the fellowship system were concentrated on the venality
of the elections. Fellows, from among whom the tutors were always
selected, were not elected for their intellectual merit, but were usually
chosen according to the capricious will of the founder of the college
and through fortuitous circumstances. Candidates for a professorship in
Orléans complained in 1511 about the fact that the doctores regentes
in that university had never willingly accepted a new doctor in the course
of the last 100 years: a lawsuit invariably preceded the appointment.*°
Precisely because the Parliament of Paris was not in the least convinced
of the impartiality of the professors, it was decided in 1532 that every
candidate, in the presence of the deputies of the Parliament, should hold
a public repetitio in the buildings of the Parisian University. The same
concerns preoccupied the teachers at Jena: when the professors of that
university were asked by the governmental authorities to propose desired
changes in 1751, they were unable to propose anything beyond the
enforcement of the old regulations. In practice, their ‘reform’ proposals
tended in the direction of limiting competition for the income and pre-
rogatives of the full professors by measures such as enforcing of religious
orthodoxy, prohibiting subjects of the Thiiringian states from studying
anywhere else, and reducing the number of lower-ranking professors,
who lured fee-paying students from their classrooms.®’ And to quote a
last example: the regentes of the Louvain faculties of law and medicine
tried continuously to reduce the number of doctoral promotions and to
divide the student fees among themselves. Eighteenth-century reformers
had to cope with this strong corporate attitude held by the professoriate,
not much inclined to generate reform from within but quite inclined to
frustrate and sabotage reform from outside.

Furthermore, in the social order of the university corporation, there
were not only significant divisions between professors and students but
also within each of these two groups in turn. A professor’s status was
evaluated in terms of his seniority and was affected by the relative dig-
nity ascribed to the faculty in which he taught.** There was an accepted
order of precedence — theology, law, medicine and, a long way behind,
arts — although, under the influence of the Enlightenment, the seculariz-
ation of the universities and the development of the sciences and philos-
ophy, law, medicine and arts gained in importance in early modern

86 C. M. Ridderikhoff, Jean Pyrrhus d’Anglebermes. Rechtswetenschap en humanisme aan
de Universiteit van Orléans in het begin van de 16de eeuw (Leiden, 1981), 104.

87 McClelland, State, Society and University, 71-2.

88 Brockliss, French Higher Education, 53.

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Peter A. Vandermeersch

times.” It was very clear with regard to the law faculties in the eight-
eenth century, for instance in Halle where law became the most import-
ant faculty.”°

This re-evaluation of the non-theological faculties is shown by the
increasing salaries of their professors. Within the faculties, professorial
seniority was once more reflected in the distribution of faculty functions
(junior professors taught the introductory and the less important
courses) and, of course, in the salaries. The hierarchy existing in the
professoriate was manifest in its processions and ceremonies and in its
dress. It even determined the order of speaking and voting. As in the
Middle Ages, doctors were given a hat, a coat, a book, a ring and a chain
as insignia doctoralia. The ring, symbol of the dignity of the nobility and
the high clergy, thus symbolized the admission of the doctores into the
nobility of the mind.”! Moreover, the statutes of the universities defined
academic garb. In Ingolstadt, for instance, the doctors of the three higher
faculties, just like the magni prelati, were obliged to wear the rubea
biretta, a red hat, while the magistri of the faculty of arts wore biretta
susca, a brown hat, which placed them on an equal footing with lower
prelates and canons.”* On many occasions difficulties arose concerning
the clothes certain professors could or could not wear. In France, for
example, a decree of the Parliament of Paris was needed to settle a con-
flict between the docteurs régents and the docteurs agrégés concerning
the colour of their robes.”

These outward manifestations of professorial and corporative dignity
apparently became stronger as the corporation gradually lost real power
and as the professors came increasingly to be civil servants. ‘... one of
the major concerns of the university was to know how it had to file
during the great royal ceremonies Autenticaes and more specifically
during funeral processions.’”* The problems of etiquette, the place of the
respective faculties and of individual professors in all kinds of ceremon-
ies, the titles by which the professors were to be addressed, seem to have
been the main concerns of many persons. In all university archives we
find endless discussions on this subject.

Another feature which shows the increasing self-conciousness of the
professors was the ‘professors’ gallery’. From the sixteenth century on,

8° See also chapter 8.

°° N. Hammerstein, ‘Die deutschen Universitaten im Zeitalter der Aufklarung’, Zeitschrift
fiir historische Forschung, 10 (1983), 76.

7! Boehm, ‘Libertas Scholastica’ (note 29), 48. See also pp. 205 and 361.

72, R. A. Miller, Universitat und Adel. Eine soziostrukturelle Studie zur Geschichte der
bayerischen Landesuniversitat Ingolstadt 1472-1648 (Berlin, 1974), 126-7.

73 Lemasne-Desjobert, La Faculté de droit de Paris (note 6), 27.

4 J. Le Goff, ‘La conception frangaise de l’université 4 l’époque de la Renaissance’, in
Universités européennes, 96.

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Teachers

in many universities such as Paris, Siena, Bologna, Naples and Tiibingen
portraits were made of each succeeding generation of professors. These
portrait galleries, inspired by the Renaissance imagines clarorum viro-
rum, were to bear witness to the magnificent history of the alma mater
and to the many great men who had taught at the university. The interest
which academics and society at large paid to the death of certain univer-
sity teachers, an interest proved by the increasing number of funeral
orations, is a parallel indication of this same self-conciousness.

The position of the professoriate with respect to society in general is
less clear. Let us look first of all at the social origin of the professor.
Although there exist no satisfactory statistics on this subject, in general
we may say that university teachers rarely if ever came from the upper
end of the social scale. The majority of them were descended from the
lower-middle classes: they were sons of the intellectual bourgeoisie —
clergymen, Latin school-teachers, physicians, professors (for example in
the Netherlands and France) — or of the professional class of small, land-
owning farmers (as was the case in England and Poland).

In the eighteenth century many Russian professors at the Universities
of Petersburg and Moscow were of low birth, their parents being peas-
ants, rural clergy or soldiers. The Russian nobility at that time did not
seem to look on learning and professorship as a suitable career.”

Of course, we also find university professors who belonged to the
nobility: twenty-four of the fifty-nine professors of French law at the
southern French universities (1681-1793) were noblemen, although
there existed considerable differences in the degree of nobility.”° In many
countries the professorial class had strong ties with the urban magistra-
ture and the civil service (some German and Italian universities) or —
with respect to Spain — the /etrados. As inbreeding and corporatism in
elections became more pronounced at many universities, more and more
sons or sons-in-law of former professors were appointed to teaching
posts at the university.

To a great extent, social status was determined by fortune. Here again,
it is difficult and hazardous to generalize. In Poland, for example, the
fortune and, consequently, the social status of university teachers, sons
of the bourgeoisie and of farmers, were small. But although some seven-
teenth- and eighteenth-century salaries were indeed far from satisfactory
and had to be supplemented by auxiliary incomes (see above, p. 236),
many professors belonged to the wealthier classes. In the tax list of
Franeker (1749), all professors are assessed for more than 1,000 fl. This
places them in the highest assessment class. We also know that in the

°° G. K. Skryabin (ed.), Ustavy Academii nauk SSSR (Moscow, 1974), 74.
76 Chéne, L’Enseignement du droit francais (note 20), 64.

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Peter A. Vandermeersch

second half of the eighteenth century, the Edinburgh medical professors,
for instance, had become quite wealthy from a mixture of teaching,
lucrative private practice and writing textbooks. Some of them were even
enviably rich: Joseph Black left £20,000; William Cullen bought a
country house near Edinburgh as a sylvan retreat; Alexander Monro
II bought 271 acres near Edinburgh for gardening and 1,200 acres in
Berwickshire for farming.”’ Even where the actual financial position of
the local professoriate declined, it continued to enjoy social and financial
prerogatives which set it apart as a privileged social group. This is clear
in Prussia, for instance, where the professors’ traditional sumptuous
privileges and their frequent monopolies over certain kinds of trade and
manufactures began to disappear after 1740. Nevertheless, their right of
censorship, their right of representation in the Landtag, and their control
over lucrative ecclesiastical posts survived in force. Even at the relatively
new institution of Halle, professors enjoyed all these privileges, as well
as the exclusive use of one of the city churches and the right to their
own beer and wine cellars. Partly because of these corporate preroga-
tives, faculty groups tended to be extremely homogeneous, ingrown and
static,’® while professorial families tried to confirm their status by out-
ward appearance, thus trying to compete with the nobility. When Duke
Ludwig of Wiirttemberg, for instance, ordered the sculptor Christoph
Yelin to make his sumptuous sepulchral monument, the Tiibinger family
Scheck ordered from the same sculptor a similar monument that was
certainly neither less expensive nor less imposing. And a French contem-
porary testified that the most wealthy eighteenth-century law professors
of Paris would do anything to ‘rouller carrosse et faire soutenir a leurs
femmes des airs de grandeur qui ne conviennent qu’aux dames de
qualité’.””

The social obligations of the professoriate were indeed important and
costly. This confirmation of professorial status and dignity, and the com-
petition with the nobility, is also demonstrated by the dress worn by the
professors and their families. In the German Kleiderordnungen, doctors,
professors and their families had the right to distinguish themselves from
the other social classes by wearing special clothes and jewels. In this
respect, it should be noted that, from the end of the seventeenth century
onwards, in almost all continental universities academic dress changed:
it became elegant, worldly, and the clerical gown disappeared. A Dutch
contemporary testified, on the other hand, that professors in Leiden were
simply dressed, but this arose from the rule: the more simplicity, the

°? Morrell, ‘Medicine and Science’ (note 58), 42.
*® Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 508.
»° Lemasne-Desjobert, La Faculté de droit de Paris (note 6), 21.

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more dignity.'°° These differences in clothing were very important in a
society that showed extreme class-conciousness. Moreover, they allow
us to form a rough idea of the place the professoriate occupied in the
overall social hierarchy. A German Kleiderordnung of 1661 divided
society into seven distinct classes: in the first one were placed councillors
and noble proprietors; the second class consisted of ennobled com-
moners and Doctoren und Licentiaten Juris und Medicinae; in the third
class we find syndics, secretaries, civil servants and ennobled merchants;
the fourth class was made up of artisans and merchants; and in classes
five to seven we find the lowest social groups. Another similar decree
even gave the professors of Ingolstadt, their wives and children the right
to wear chains, rings and other analogous jewels, just like the nobility.'”'
In that same university doctors in the law faculty received not only the
hat, the ring and the book but also the cingulum, a girdle, which sym-
bolized the dignity and social order of knighthood (dignitatem et ordi-
nem equestrem).'°* With this last item, we touch upon the problem
of the relationship between the professoriate or the doctorate and the
nobility.'°? Until the eighteenth century there was heated discussion
around the question as to whether a doctorate (in law) indeed ennobled
its holder and whether the doctor’s nobility ranked above nobility by
birth. This ennobling had its roots in classical antiquity. Teachers in
Constantinople, for instance, were awarded the dignitas vicaria after
teaching for twenty years; fifteenth-century glossators interpreted this
as comes or dux. In addition, the classical concept of scientia nobilitat
(knowledge ennobles) was taken over by medieval commentators. To
repeat the whole discussion here would involve too great a digression,
but it is clear that the professors of many universities in Germany, the
Netherlands, Italy and France identified themselves increasingly with the
nobility. In the sixteenth and especially the seventeenth centuries pro-
fessors of law and medicine at Louvain usurped the titles ‘messire, noble,
illustre’ and appropriated the arms which were reserved for the nobility.
The protest of the herald of arms could not prevent this usurpation.
Furthermore, at some universities — like that of Cracow — professors
were indeed ennobled after twenty years of service, and doctors generally
had many privileges which were reserved for the nobles. We have already
discussed clothing privileges. In the Worms Reformation (1498) we find

Roelevink, Gedicteerd Verleden (note 51), 48.

Miiller, Universitat und Adel (note 92), 126.

Miller, Universitat und Adel (note 92), 41-2.

On the noble status of professors see: A. Visconti, ‘De nobilitate doctorum legentium
in studiis generalibus’, in Studi di storia e diritto in onore di Enrico Besta, per il XL
anno del suo insegnamento, vol. 1 (Milan, 1939), 221-41, and H. Lange, ‘Vom Adel
des Doctor’, in K. Luig and P. Liebs (eds.), Das Profil des Juristen in europdischer
Tradition (Ebelsbach, 1980), 279-94.

249

Peter A. Vandermeersch

another illustration of professorial dignity. Here it is decreed, inter alia,
that practising or teaching doctors in law and medicine and noblemen
could not be examined by torture. In the same document we read that
‘Princes, counts, doctores, knights, bishops, abbots, nuns and sick per-
sons’ did not have to testify in a courtroom. The judge himself had to
come to their homes to hear the required testimony.’

Even though there existed many expressions of ‘belonging to academic
society’ and even though the professoriate possessed a certain class spirit
or self-awareness, it is clear that, in many cases, the ‘membership’ of
other social or professional circles predominated: college members in
England and Spain and members of religious orders — to quote only
these two examples — showed much greater adherence to their respective
colleges or to their order than to the university as a community. The
same could be said about professors belonging to the nobility or to some
local oligarchy or another. In all universities the corporation of teachers
suffered from this lack of cohesion and solidarity.

Of course, social status is determined by factors other than fortune
and privilege alone. The esteem of other people and the way the pro-
fession is viewed by society in general are almost as important. There
are several testimonies, running the gamut from adoration and enthusi-
asm to harsh complaints and disdain, to the way contemporaries saw
the job of a university teacher. As we have already pointed out, the
complaints of corruption and venality, apathy, absenteeism and lack of
interest in their teaching were almost general. ‘In former days there were
no lecture halls for the masters, now there are no masters for the lecture
halls’, wrote one Salamanca professor in 1638.'°° Besides — and these
complaints became stronger during the eighteenth century — some people
argued that professors could not handle their teaching jobs. ‘Here [in
the universities] the relationship of educator to pupil cannot take place.
The students believe they have outgrown discipline. And why should
they not? They are men; they wear daggers ... And who should educate
them? Certainly not the professors. Who could require that of them?
They have not studied the theories of education’, wrote a German advo-
cate of the abolition of the universities.’

Not only the professor as a teacher, but also the professor as a scholar,
was the object of criticism and ridicule. The most mordant sarcasm
about scholars probably came from Erasmus in his In Praise of Folly.'°’

Nevertheless, for instance in the Netherlands, the job of a professor
was envied by many persons. In 1767 H. van Wijn wrote to a professor

14 Lange, ‘Vom Adel des Doctor’ (note 103), 291.

105 Kagan, Students and Society, 171.

106 J. H. Campe, quoted by Turner, ‘University Reformers’ (note 7), 502.
107 Erasmus, In Praise of Folly (London, 1971), 144-63.

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of Utrecht University: ‘I would be a Croesus if I were professor in his-
tory’, and he went on, ‘once the college dictata are in order, there is
nothing easier and nothing more amusing than a professorate’. But the
professors themselves did not agree-with this opinion of their jobs.
According to them, their position was not at all enviable. The correspon-
dent of H. van Wijn, Professor Rijklof Michaél van Goens, compared
the first years of a professorate with forced labour in the rasp-house or
prison.'’® Two centuries before him Melanchthon had complained: ‘We
suffer the haughtiest disdain, not only from clerks, merchants, and scor-
ners of all education, but also from those demigods of the royal
courts.’’°’ Even the students did not show the necessary respect for their
professors if we read this French declaration of 1680:

In the King’s name... and while H.M. has been informed that some of
those who visit the Law Schools . . . to take courses there... do not show
the professors the respect due to their lectures, neither the appreciation
for the work and the care the latter spend in teaching them... H.M. has
ordered and orders them to be modest and to show due respect to the
professors.''°

In 1811 two French inspectors of the Dutch universities wrote in their
report: ‘The status of professor is highly respected and before the union
it was considered as one of the first ranks in civil service.’’'’ But this
esteem for the professoriate certainly was not that general during the
early modern period. Many people saw the job as a second-rate one.
This becomes clear when we look at the reactions of Viglius’s friends
to his appointment as professor in Ingolstadt (1537). Previously, Viglius
had been assessor in the Reichskammergericht. Most of his friends did
not understand and did not approve of his decision. They reproach him
thus: ‘Viglius, from being a consul, a man who takes decisions, you
became a retor, a bit of a humbug...’'!* And a Swiss expression that
probably dates back to the eighteenth century states: ‘Der gescheiteste
Sohn tibernimmt das vaterliche Geschaft, der zweite wird Pfarrer und
der diimmste Professor’ (the brightest son takes over his father’s busi-
ness, the second becomes a clergyman, and the most stupid a university
professor).''?

108 Roelevink, Gedicteerd Verleden (note 51), 48 and 112.

Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, 275.

Lemasne-Desjobert, La Faculté de droit de Paris (note 6), 36.

Frijhoff, Gradués, 279.

F. Postma, Viglius van Aytta als humanist en diplomaat 1507-1549 (Zutphen,
1983), 67.

U. Im Hof, ‘Die reformierten Hohen Schulen und ihre schweizerischen Stadtstaaten’,
in E. Maschke and J. Sydow (eds.), Stadt und Universitat im Mittelalter und in der
friiheren Neuzeit (Sigmaringen, 1977), 63.

109
110

251

Peter A. Vandermeersch

In general, we may indeed say that the job of a professor as such did
not earn very much esteem. On the other hand, professors had important
privileges, they fulfilled important functions in the administration of the
state and the church, some of them wrote admirable works, etc. Their
opinion was asked in many matters of religion and of law. Law faculties
were consulted by courts and princes, and through their consilia they
had a great deal of power. Theologians acted as guardians of orthodoxy;
professors of medicine were appointed court physicians. As a result, their
auctoritas in these matters was considerable. This aspect of their job
was envied by many people and consequently placed the most famous
and the most powerful of them on the highest social rungs.

As stated above ‘the professor’ as such did not exist. There were many
kinds of teachers, all of whom had different preoccupations, duties,
social backgrounds and salaries. Nevertheless, the members of the pro-
fessoriate in the period 1500-1800 still had a lot in common: it was a
body characterized by corporatism, by increasing provincialism, by a
lack of professionalism. The professor who was a member of the Répub-
lique des Lettres became a Nationalgelehrte, the independent teacher
became a civil servant, the teacher paid by fees became a salaried pro-
fessor, etc.

Throughout the whole period, and more especially in the eighteenth
century, there were continuous attempts to reform the universities, to
increase professorial seriousness, and to eliminate abuses. It was cer-
tainly necessary to increase the fixed salaries and to endow the professor-
iate with more social esteem. Some of these attempts produced results:
the seventeenth-century Dutch universities, or the eighteenth-century
German universities like Halle and Gottingen, show that it was indeed
possible to attract and to form a serious, productive and concerned pro-
fessoriate — one that considered its professorial duties as a job with spe-
cial and specific demands and its career as a life-long mission.

INDIVIDUAL TAXES LEVIED IN THE DUCHY OF BRABANT IN 1631

This tax gives a simplified overview of levels of income in general and
the level of income of the professors at the University of Louvain, in
particular, as perceived by contemporaries in the Duchy of Brabant.

100 florins cardinals, archbishops, bishops
the abbess of Nivelles Abbey
ambassadors
princes, marquises, counts
councillors of the State Council
president of the Privy Council
heads of the Finance Council

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Teachers

chancellor of Brabant
captain of the cavalry, or of the artillery
postmaster-general

60-75 florins court officers
barons, viscounts
councillors of the Privy Council
treasurer-general
president of the Audit Office
camp masters
officials of the State Council
officials of the Finance Council
receiver-general
treasurer of the States of Brabant

50 florins court officials
the provost of Nivelles Abbey
lords of towns or liberties (franchises)
councillors of the Council of Brabant
masters (councillors) of the Audit Office
grand receivers and officers of justice
rector of the university
superintendent of Charity

30-40 florins burgomasters and pensionaries of chief-towns
chancellor and conservator of the university
members of the high clergy
general master of the Mint
intendants of Charity
officers of justice

18-25 florins parish priests
lords of baronial origin
village lords
auditors and registrars of the Audit Office
receivers
businessmen and merchants active at the stock exchange
physicians, secretaries and clerks in chief-towns
university professors
masters of the Mint
officers of justice in minor territories
deans of minor collegiate chapters
knights and other lords with jurisdiction
barristers at the Council of Brabant
lieutenant-officers, aldermen and treasurers in the

chief-towns

minor officers of justice

12-15 florins wholesalers in silk, cloths and tapestries

253

Peter A. Vandermeersch

well-known painters

priests in small collegiate churches and urban parishes
university lecturers

officers of justice in small towns

landlords without any professional activity

6-10 florins canons of small chapters
low-ranking gentlemen or those who lived as such
lower magistrates of larger cities
physicians in large cities
successful merchants and craftsmen with or without a
shop
magistrates of smaller towns
priests in minor offices of important collegiate churches
barristers in large towns
parish priests in the country
minor registrars and receivers

3-5 florins farmers with two ploughs
brewers in the country
middle-class merchants and craftsmen
country landlords
chaplains
stewards, gentlemen and ladies-in-waiting of grand
noblemen
solicitors and notaries in the chief-towns
innkeepers
village registrars

2 florins servants, messengers, couriers
village sergeants
farmers with one plough
craftsmen and shopkeepers in the country

1 florin servants and maids
minor craftsmen
labourers
day-labourers

o florins paupers, beggars

Source: R. Van Uytven, ‘Vers un autre colloque: hiérarchies sociales et
prestige au Moyen Age et aux temps modernes’, in W. Prevenier, R. Van
Uytven and E. Van Cauwenberghe (eds.), Structures sociales et topogra-
phie de la pauvreté et de la richesse aux XIVe et XVe siécles. Aspects
méthodologiques et résultats de recherches récentes, Studia Historica Gan-
densia, 267 (Ghent, 1986), 16.

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Le Goff, J. and Képeczi, B. (eds.) Intellectuels francais, intellectuels hongrois,
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Hammerstein, N. Aufklarung und katholisches Reich. Untersuchungen zur
Universitatsreform und Politik katholischer Territorien des Heiligen R6-
mischen Reichs deutscher Nation im 18. Jahrhundert, Historische For-
schungen, 12, Berlin, 1977.

Hargreaves-Mawdsley, W. M. A History of Academic Dress in Europe until the
End of the Eighteenth Century, Oxford, 1963.

Julia, D. ‘La naissance du corps professoral’, Actes de la recherche en sciences
sociales, 39 (1981), 71-86.

Kearney, H. F. Scholars and Gentlemen: Universities and Society in Pre-
Industrial Britain, 1500-1700, London, 1970.

Klinge, M. Leikola, A. Knapas, R. and Stromberg, J. Kuningliga Akademien i
Abo 1640-1808, Helsingfors Universitet historia, 1640-1990, vol. 1, Helsinki,
1988.

Klingenstein, G., Lutz H. and Stourzh, G. (eds.) Bildung, Politik und Gesell-
schaft. Studien zur Geschichte des europdischen Bildungswesens vom 16. bis
zum 20. Jahrhundert, Wiener Beitrage zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 5, Vienna,
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McClelland, C. E. State, Society and University in Germany 1700-1914, Cam-
bridge, 1980.

Miiller, R. A. Universitat und Adel. Eine soziostrukturelle Studie zur Geschichte
der bayerischen Landesuniversitat Ingolstadt 1472-1648, Berlin, 1974.

Roggero, M. ‘Professori e studenti nelle universita tra crisi e riforme’, in Storia
d'Italia. Annali, 4, Turin, 1981, 1037-81.

Rossler, H. and Franz, G. (eds.) Universitat und Gelehrtenstand 1400-1800,
Limburg an der Lahn, 1970.

Zorzolli, M. C. ‘La carrera del professor de derecho en Pavia durante la etapa
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255

CHAPTER 6

EXPORTING MODELS

JOHN ROBERTS, AGUEDA M.
RODRIGUEZ CRUZ AND JURGEN
HERBST

PREFATORY NOTE

When this volume was first planned, it was envisaged
that the subject of European university influences in the
New World should be discussed in two distinct chap-
ters, one on South and one on North America. Drafts
were prepared and submitted on this basis by Professor
Agueda M. Rodriguez Cruz and Professor Jurgen
Herbst. Subsequently, the Editorial Board decided that,
with the approval of the authors, the two drafts should
be combined with other material in a chapter which
would outline the primary characteristics of the first
migration of European university models overseas, and
would not discuss in detail the substantive history of the
early American colleges and universities (as had been
formerly envisaged). Dr Roberts, a member of the
Board, assisted in this task, drawing upon the draft
chapters as well as on another by Professor Ural Pérez.

THE NEW WORLD SETTING

University education provides evidence not only for intellectual life and
high culture, but for a society’s mentality in the broadest sense. It
expresses articulated aspirations and desires, and displays the limits and
constraints operating upon them, whether recognized or unrecognized.
Nothing remotely resembling a university existed in the New World
before Europeans arrived and settled there. Yet by the end of the eight-
eenth century numerous universities and other institutions of higher edu-

256

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cation could be found in North, Central and South America. They had
not been invented de novo; they were implants from the European uni-
versity tradition and its stocks.

This was not unprecedented. In earlier centuries universities had been
set up in many European countries on the lines evolved at Bologna and
Paris which had provided patterns, models and ideals for most universit-
ies’ founders and promoters before 1500. Hardly surprisingly, then, in
the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries Spanish settlers in
South and Central America and their British and French counterparts in
the North looked to Europe for direction when they decided that their
own societies needed educated men. If the Americans were to have uni-
versities at all, they had to start with universities based on European
patterns. As time passed, other models were to evolve in North America,
but in the Spanish Empire a metropolitan pattern was the norm through-
out the colonial period.

Much concerning the psychological world of the early American col-
nists is implicit in those statements. They looked about them and could
not see in the native population (which for a long time outnumbered
them) or in the native cultures of the Americas anything that they wished
to draw upon to use in higher education (what they found of practical,
daily use was another matter). Moreover, north and south, they only
rarely and intermittently envisaged direct educational provision for the
native peoples, least of all at university level. One early instance of such
provision in anglophone America was attempted in the earliest colonial
times: in 1619 the Virginia Company raised money for a college to teach
Indian children, and some steps were taken to put it to use, but the
revocation of the Company’s charter finished off both the patron and
the scheme. Thereafter North America has nothing in the way of pro-
vision for Indians which requires notice until the eighteenth-century
foundation of a missionary school for their education. Within a few
years, though, it became Dartmouth College; it was launched on the
way to later fame, but as a college for whites. Indirect provision for
the natives’ well-being was a different matter. At least in the Spanish
settlements much thought was given to the provision of missionary
clergy. The actual admission of Indians to their colleges and universities,
though, was always to be unusual in the Americas until the present
century.

There were, nevertheless, different colonial psychologies, different
visions, different ideas of colonial needs which must be taken into
account in order to understand the shaping of universities in the New
World. Most obviously (and as has already been implied) colonials were
not the same north and south. This was not only a matter of genes and
language. It was also important, for example, that there was a difference

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

in timing: the first universities were established south of the Rio Grande
a century before any form of university-level education could be found
north of it. In 1500 the overwhelming majority of Europeans shared a
common Catholic religious culture. By the time the first university of
the New World was founded in 1538, the unity of Christendom had
been shattered by the Protestant Reformation, but the beginnings of
higher education in the Spanish colonies did not reflect that. The foun-
dation of the Spanish Empire was the work of men whose mental world
was that of the Middle Ages; that of the later English colonies to the
north belonged to a different historical era — the early modern, one might
say. This had many implications. In theory, at least, the university in
Spanish America was part of a system which aspired to a total control
of culture; it is symbolic that it was not long before its health came to
be watched over by the Inquisition. In North America, too, the first
universities were deeply influenced by religion, but that meant something
quite different in a religiously pluralistic society.

There were other differences of colonial tradition, too. The Spanish
Empire was built by individuals, but normally with the firm support of
the state, which from the start sought to control and direct an Empire.
The English New World, by comparison, was a heterogeneous, almost
haphazard structure, the product of diverse motives and intentions
which were reflected very obviously in a variety of forms of government.
In all of them the absence of firm control — and sometimes of the wish
to achieve it — by the metropolitan state was notable. In the English
colonies, too, were to be found institutions and practices which from
an early stage reflected a unique English contribution to the process of
early European expansion overseas, the migration and implantation of
whole communities of men, women and children, together with their
social and religious leaders. This accentuated a degree of insulation, even
isolation, from the local population which was never so marked in the
Spanish or Portuguese dominions.

Finally, there was differentiation imposed by the lands to which the
colonists came. The climatic differences between, say, Massachusetts and
the Carolinas are sufficient to make the point even within the northern
continent; the use of black slave labour later showed it by dividing the
future United States north and south in civil war. It is a point which
cannot be made so briefly, though, if the vast variety of South and Cen-
tral America and the Caribbean islands is to be given its due. Nonethe-
less, one general observation can pertinently be made; the areas which
the Spanish first penetrated were by comparison with North America
well populated. Their inhabitants supported themselves with specialized,
sometimes advanced, agriculture and were able to generate significant
economic surpluses. On that wealth they had been capable of raising

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Exporting models

great monuments and supporting complex ruling hierarchies and systems
of administration. Some of them had elementary forms of writing. In
North America, the English found much less, and what they found was
also less impressive. The aboriginal population was not only smaller in
numbers, it was more primitive than most of those peoples confronting
the Spanish. Although agriculture was well established in a few areas
where the English settled, many of the natives they met still lived in
hunter-gatherer cultures. There was nothing facing them which was cul-
turally so challenging — whether in a stimulating or frightening sense —
as what the conquistadores had found in Mexico or Peru.

THE MODELS AVAILABLE

It was against this background that the colonists had to think about
providing higher education, and to consider the models available to
them. Central and South American settlers looked to their governmental
and ecclesiastical authorities; they in turn looked towards the insti-
tutions best known to them, above all that of Salamanca, the most
ancient and famous of Spanish universities, and one enjoying Europe-
wide prestige.’ In comparison with its influence, that of Alcala was
slight, and formal rather than substantial, though it provided another
link with a distinct European tradition. As for Valladolid, that university
seems to have played no part at all in the creation of Spanish colonial
universities, other than the prehistory of the first of them. This selectivity
in formative influences was important. The University of Salamanca was
decentralized and provided formally for student participation in the
government of the university, whereas Alcala was centralized, with little
opportunity for constitutional involvement of its students. In the end,
whatever their adaptation to American conditions, most Spanish Amer-
ican universities were in their legal constitution basically Salamancan.
About two-thirds of them had statutes clearly based on those of Salam-
anca and in the express declarations of kings, confirmed by successive
popes, it was often stated that they were to follow the Salamancan
model. Graduates of Salamanca also long served in America as founders,
inspectors, reformers and governors, rectors, chancellors and professors
of the new universities. (Before long, too, native Spanish Americans who
had returned to Spain to study came back to America among these Sala-
manca alumni, and some of them were very eminent.)

' An interesting sketch of Salamanca’s pre-eminence can be conveniently found in the
first of J. Tate Lanning’s lectures on Academic Culture in the Spanish Colonies, delivered
in 1939 (but reprinted New York and London, 1971) and in A. M. Rodriguez Cruz,
Salmantica docet. La proyeccién de la Universidad de Salamanca en Hispanoameérica,
vol. 1 (Salamanca, 1977).

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

Yet formal arrangements are only part of the story. In the first place,
the new universities could in most cases aspire to be only miniature
Salamancas. They had difficulty in finding teachers and resources and
had only a few chairs; even after a century or more of life only a few
of them had all the faculties of full universities. The formal and legal
persistence of the influence of the standard early model meant that all
the major Spanish American universities eventually had the traditional
four faculties of theology, canon law, civil law and medicine, and the
minor faculty of arts. But what were to be called the lesser universities
tended to be limited to the ecclesiastical faculties of theology and canon
law and, less often, of arts. Secondly, the way that universities actually
worked in practice (especially if - as most were — they derived from
convents and seminaries) was likely to be as much influenced by the
regular Order presiding over them as by formal constitutional
arrangements.”

The models for North American higher education were more of a
mixed bag. The English-speaking North Americans could, if they
wished, look to the universities of Oxford and Cambridge, each describ-
able as a federation of residential colleges, to the Scottish universities,
and (by the eighteenth century) to the dissenters’ academies in England.
The francophone settlers in North America could take as their exemplars
the Sorbonne, the Jesuit colleges and theological seminaries. Yet the
Oxford and Cambridge models were not, as they stood, practicable
choices for outright adoption by the English North Americans; nor was
the Sorbonne a sensible choice for their neighbours. Neither group could
have raised the financial resources such elaborate and costly institutions
required, even if they had wanted such a scale of provision. The French
North Americans therefore tended to follow patterns set by the Jesuit
colleges and theological seminaries, while anglophone North Americans
began straight away to adapt and amalgamate a selection of all the
models available to them. From the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge
some colonies were to take residential provision and the quasi-familial
custody of pupils (the principle of in loco parentis), from the Scottish
universities which provided many of the first heads of their colleges they
took a pattern of diversified courses of study and, as time went by, new
colleges and universities would increasingly reflect systems of govern-
ment like those of the dissenting academies. Furthermore seventeenth-
century English colonists were reluctant to accept direction from the
state; colonial government never shaped universities and colleges so
closely as it did in the Spanish Empire.

2 See, for example, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz, El oficio de rector en la Universidad de Sala-
manca y en las universidades hispanoamericanos (Salamanca, 1979), passim.

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The Spanish American universities continued pre-Reformation tra-
dition in the legal mode of their foundation. They always sought and
were always given papal or royal authorization (and sometimes were
the result of initiatives from the same sources). Rome was almost always
petitioned to confirm royal foundations, and universities of papal foun-
dation usually sought similar royal approval. Other universities which
began independently as houses of the regular Orders or seminaries also
sought such confirmation by church and state. This had much more than
merely formal significance. Not only could the interventions of royal
officials or bishops be decisive in the institutionally primitive societies
of early Spanish America, but the royal Council of the Indies at least
aspired to close supervision of what actually went on in the new univer-
sities, and sometimes acted to achieve it. In the first year of the University
of Lima’s existence, it imposed compulsory tests to check academic
adequacy in the teaching (apparently already a matter for concern,
although no teaching actually appears to have been undertaken by
then).°

The confessionally heterogeneous anglophone North American insti-
tutions tended, unlike the Spanish universities, to emerge from merely
local initial authorization; they could not look to Rome, and there was
no tradition of looking to the English crown. They often adapted to their
own needs patterns of government familiar to religious denominations
in Great Britain, and sought the endorsement and support of the local
community. Formally, at least, they did not usually look to the local
constituted authorities of state or Anglican Church (the local congre-
gations were a different matter), and they gave the direction of their
foundations to the presidents of the colleges and boards of trustees of
overseers. These, though they often included clerical and civil dignitaries,
were usually composed of local laymen of standing. This prevented the
emergence of the pattern of collegiate self-government of Oxford and
Cambridge, and did not for a long time favour the establishment of a
corporate professoriate. In the relatively poor and only slowly growing
colonial economies of North America, teaching staff had to be found
by drawing upon local clergymen or the more advanced students and
recent graduates who were preparing themselves by apprenticeship for
medicine and law (for whose teaching there was at first no provision).

The relation of external authority to government bore importantly on
questions of finance. The Spanish crown obtained an American univer-
sity system at little cost to the royal treasury when the regular Orders
of clergy provided teachers who did not need stipends. Royal funding

> J. Lafaye, ‘Literature and Intellectual Life in Colonial Spanish America’, The Cambridge
History of Latin America, vol. 1: Colonial America (Cambridge, 1984), 675-6.

261

J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

was usually parsimonious. In the early years of Lima, only the professor
of grammar and arts was paid.’ In a few other institutions, there were
endowed posts, but not many. Nor did North American higher edu-
cation enjoy major endowment by benefactors, and certainly not the
lavish support given to some European institutions. Though there was
plenty of land, and some of it was given to colleges, it yielded, on the
whole, poor returns. Neither Stuart nor Hanoverian monarchs showed
any concern to endow professorships (though they did so in England).
Few wealthy merchants existed who were concerned enough to make
benefactions to higher educational institutions. Thus the colleges and
universities of North America, though attached to European traditions,
were handicapped in realizing much of the potential of the models pre-
sent in the minds of their founders. Nevertheless, in spite of their relative
penury, and the absence of imperial, royal, papal, ecclesiastical and com-
mercial patronage, they grew in number and prospered: the modern
United States has thirteen universities whose origins antedate 1800, Eng-
land only two.

THE FOUNDATION OF COLONIAL UNIVERSITIES

An attempt to summarize the story of the foundations of the first univer-
sities and colleges within this general framework can now be made. So
far as the Spanish colonies are concerned it is still difficult to produce
a systematic and accurate account, because the scholarly record is
incomplete, and there are abundant confusions over, for instance, autho-
rization (royal or papal), formal foundation and actual operation.’ The
geographical starting-point is, nevertheless, clear. The Dominicans
arrived on the island of Hispaniola in 1509. Within a few years they
had initiated teaching at a higher level than the grammar school
(originally opened by the Franciscans for native children in 1502), and
a chair of theology had been endowed. Papal authorization and pro-
motion was then sought for the existing estudio with arguments urging
the need to provide priests and educated men to carry out tasks other-
wise likely to fall into the hands of temporary immigrants from metro-
politan Spain in search of quick fortunes. Full university status was
granted in 1538, when the first university of the newly discovered west-

* L. Diaz-Trehchuelo Lopez-Spinola, La vida universitaria en Indias. Siglos XVI y XVII
(Cordoba, 1982), 8.

* Basic data for Spanish universities overseas founded before 1800 (including those in
North America) can be found in the Appendix to L. Jilek (ed.), Historical Compendium
of European Universities/Répertoire historique des universités européennes (Geneva,
1984), 325-39. For overall accounts, see A. M. Rodriguez Cruz, Historia de las universi-
dades hispanoamericanas: periodo hispdnico, 2 vols. (Bogota, 1973), and Diaz-
Trehchuelo, Vida universitaria (note 4).

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ern hemisphere was founded by the papal bull In apostolatus culmine
in the Dominican convent of Santo Domingo.°® The prior was the rector
of the new foundation, whose initial aim was to provide a properly
trained clergy for missionary work. It was given the formal privileges of
the Universities of Alcala and Salamanca in the mother country and from
the start had the full four faculties.’ When and how it became fully
operational is uncertain. In the next few years, state and church moved
more or less hand in hand in the establishment of further centres of
higher learning in the Spanish Americas. There was a plan in 1550 for
a university in Guatemala to train missionary clergy, but it came to
nothing and the next significant development came when universities
were founded by royal authority at Lima and Mexico City in the follow-
ing year. Papal confirmation was quickly given and they were formally
granted the privileges of Salamanca in, respectively, 1571 and 1595.
Three institutions thus mark the start of a process lasting more than
two and a half centuries, during which Spain set up more than two dozen
universities in America, the last as late as 1812, when the University of
Leon, in Nicaragua, was founded by the Cortes of Cadiz.’

Mexico offered its first courses of lectures in the very year of its foun-
dation, Lima only twenty years later, but both became centres and proto-
types for the later universities, colleges, institutions of higher learning
in Spanish America.'’° Their teachers provided advice on curricula and
on the criteria for the award of degrees and the admission of students.
With Santo Domingo, they soon came to be referred to customarily as
(in the language of the Recopilacidn de leyes de las Indias of 1596) the
‘greater’ universities, the others being the ‘lesser’."’ Yet it also quickly
became evident that the first three universities could not meet the edu-
cational needs of the vast American territories: although Santo Domin-
go’s promoters had optimistically envisaged recruiting students not only
from the island but from ‘all these regions’ they were too remote from
many of their potential students.'* Geography had already been one

° E. Rodriguez Demorizi, Cronologia de la Real y Pontificia Universidad de Santo Dom-
ingo, 1538-1970 (Santo Domingo, 1970), 7-19.

” Diaz-Trehchuelo, Vida universitaria (note 4), 5-6. Later depopulation led to the disap-
pearance of the medical faculty in the seventeenth century.

® Rodriguez Demorizi, Cronologia (note 6), 35; Rodriguez Cruz, Universidades his-
panoamericanas (note 5), 151. See also Diaz-Trehchuelo, Vida universitaria (note 4) 8,
on the decisive role at Lima of the viceroy.

° J. Tate Lanning (Academic Culture (note 1)) says (p. 33) that the Spanish ‘founded’ ten
major and fifteen minor universities in the Americas, but elsewhere (p. 23) that they
‘had’ twenty-three in the colonial period. Clearly, categorization is important.

10 Broadly speaking, the documentation which survives for most of the Spanish American
universities is both less complete and less copious (and has been much less studied) than
that of the Universities of Lima and Mexico.

" Diaz-Trehchuelo, Vida universitaria (note 4), 5.

2 Rodriguez Demorizi, Cronologia (note 6), 16.

243

J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

argument of the cabildo of Lima, when he had joined with the Domin-
icans to petition the crown in 1550 for a studium generale on the
grounds of his city’s remoteness from Spain. Bishops, high courts and
religious communities in the most important towns increasingly pet-
itioned pope and king for university privileges, so that study for aca-
demic degrees would more easily be made available to a far-flung settler
population.

One important characteristic of universities in the Spanish Indies was
that many of them owed their existence to the initiatives of the mendi-
cant Orders (especially the Dominicans), later joined by the Jesuits. The
first Jesuits arrived in Lima in 1569 and soon founded a college there.
The regular Orders often applied for papal permission for existing con-
vents and seminaries to award academic degrees. Santo Domingo was
only the first of several universities to grow out of convents and colleges,
while others emerged from Augustinian colleges or the Tridentine sem-
inaries. Prelates, usually in cooperation with the lay authorities, on the
whole supported such initiatives, while at the same time the crown
sought to establish its surveillance and control over them. In some mat-
ters, colleges were directly subject to the Holy See. They had, for
instance, to apply to Rome for permission to institute chairs of theology
and canon law. Often there was intense rivalry between the Orders for
local control over university education; in Quito there were at one
moment three universities, respectively Augustinian, Jesuit and Domin-
ican, whose ecclesiastical patrons quarrelled openly, as they did at times
in Chile, Santo Domingo, Santafé de Bogota and Guatemala. There were
also differences between them in their teaching traditions. The Domin-
icans and Jesuits both taught Thomist philosophy, but the latter with
the special flavour given to it by the Jesuits. Within a few years, too,
the University of Mexico was the object of Augustinian criticism on the
grounds that its logic and dialectics were distractions from what should
have been its main task, the renovation of faith.

Among the sixteenth-century foundations there was soon a second
university in Santo Domingo. This was the University of Santiago de la
Paz, which emerged with royal letters patent in 1558 from a diocesan
college to which a layman had left his estate with a view to its forth-
coming promotion to university status. The ‘University’ of San Fulgencio
in Quito, Ecuador, set up in 1586 and granted papal authorization to
award doctors’ degrees, seems a more doubtful claimant to respect-
ability. An Augustinian academy in origin, it is ‘strong documentation’
(says one authority) for the intellectual barrenness of the minor univer-
sities in the next century.’* In the seventeenth century new universities

13 Tate Lanning, Academic Culture (note 1), 29.

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included Nuestra Sefiora del Rosario, founded in a Dominican convent
in Santiago, Chile, to which in 1685 a papal brief gave the special privi-
lege of conferring doctorates in philosophy and theology, and the first
major university under Jesuit oversight, at La Plata (or Chuquisaca).in
Los Charcos in 1622. In the same year, a Jesuit college at Cordoba in
Tucuman (in modern Argentina) was given royal recognition although
it was not to achieve ‘major’ status until 1761. An academy at Bogota
founded in 1623 only became a full university in 1704. Similar recog-
nition was given (probably by the royal letters which conferred its right
to give degrees) to another Jesuit college at Quito which became the
University of San Gregorio Magno. It appears also that a university was
founded in Yucatan in 1624 on the initiative of the Society.

Its vigorous activity is very evident. Other universities which orig-
inated from convents or colleges included the University of Santo Tomas,
Quito (1681), a Dominican foundation given the right to confer degrees
by the pope in 1681 and a royal patent in 1683 and that of San Antonio
at Cuzco, created in 1691 by royal authority out of a Dominican semin-
ary already with the right to give degrees and given papal confirmation
the next year. The University of San Nicolas founded in 1694 in Santafé
de Bogota, in the New Kingdom of Granada, was Augustinian; although
it had the privilege of awarding degrees, it was a private institution
exempt from royal or governmental surveillance and control, an excep-
tion to the general rule. San Carlos, Guatemala, based on a Dominican
convent, had meanwhile been founded as a royal university in 1676; it
received papal approval in 1681 and was to have a distinguished history.
The Peruvian University of San Cristobal de Huamanga, in Ayacucho,
Peru, was founded by the bishop in 1677 and received royal and papal
approval within a few years. Situated in a Tridentine seminary, it
remained effectively under the rule of the local bishop but formally
enjoyed the same privileges as the University of Lima.

The three principal Spanish American foundations of the eighteenth
century were those of Havana (1721), Caracas (1725) and San Felipe
in Santiago de Chile (1747). All were major universities, the last two
actually offering courses in medicine. The University of Buenos Aires
was nominally founded in 1778 as the University of the Viceroyalty of
La Plata, but did not function under Spanish rule. Other eighteenth-
century higher educational foundations, as in earlier times, were sem-
inaries and colleges which acquired the privilege of awarding degrees
and so became minor universities. The University of Popayan, in New
Granada, founded in 1744 in a college-cum-seminary was of this kind;
so was the short-lived University of San Francisco Xavier, Panama
(1749). The University of AsuncioOn, Paraguay, was another minor
university founded by a brief of 1733 which gave it the privilege of

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

awarding degrees on the basis of the privilege of the Dominicans; it
received a royal charter in 1779. Finally, the curious fact may be noted
that it was not until the eighteenth century — precisely 1747 — that Santo
Domingo, the oldest of all the colonial universities, was formally given
the title of ‘royal’, though the use of it seems to have been tacitly
accepted at a much earlier date.

Through this inadequate narrative runs a clear formal pattern; royal
and papal authorization was usually given in response to local acts of
initiative undertaken, for the most part, though not quite always, by the
regular clergy or local bishop. About the subsequent degree of success
of these foundations, it is less safe to generalize. Clearly, it was very
varied. Uncertainties about the details of the histories of some of those
mentioned reinforce a preliminary impression of ambiguity about their
precise standing in an educational world where many institutions had
limited authority to grant degrees. Of the ‘universities’ founded in Span-
ish America between 1538 and 1827, some must be reckoned to have
had only a more or less nominal existence. Others lived short lives, while
major changes cloud the history of yet others in uncertainty. The Univer-
sity of Yucatan, for instance, closed in 1767, to reopen only after inde-
pendence in 1824. A University of La Plata, formally created in 1552,
did not function until the next century. Above all the Spanish expulsion
of the Jesuits from the monarchy’s dominions brought about a major
disruption. Among leading institutions, the Xavierian universities of
Bogota and Panama were closed, and Cordoba was handed over to the
Franciscans in 1767. But it was also true that undisturbed formal exist-
ence cannot be assumed to mean much in the way of educational reality.

A word may conveniently be added at this juncture about the other
major zone of Iberian expansion in South America, Brazil. Coimbra
inspired no such effort there as did Salamanca in the Spanish Empire.
The native Brazilian population was sparsely settled and primitive. Such
education as existed in the colonial society was mostly in the hands of
the Jesuits until their dissolution. From their arrival in Brazil in 1547,
they sought to educate the Indians by organizing them into missions,
some of which gave birth to colleges conferring bachelors’ and masters’
degrees. But these were for long virtually the only centres of cultural
activity in Brazil, and were effectively limited to the professional prep-
aration of clergy and jurists. Official policy discouraged other efforts,
and there were no universities in Brazil in colonial times, nor did eight-
eenth-century attempts to set up scientific and literary societies prosper.
students seeking to complete their higher education were compelled to
go to the mother country, where they presented themselves in substantial
numbers at Coimbra. Not until 1922 was the first Brazilian university
founded, in Rio de Janeiro, by a merger of other institutions.

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As has already been more than once remarked, the story of foundation
in the English colonies of North America is very different from that in
the Spanish empire and more varied in the forms it threw up. The chron-
ology begins in 1636 with a college established by the Massachusetts
General Court (the governing body of the chartered colony and
company) with a grant of £400. Three years later this institution was
named Harvard College in honour of a benefactor, John Harvard, a
wealthy minister whose gift was worth almost twice the original grant.
A committee of ‘overseers’ was appointed as a governing body in 1642
and Harvard was given a charter by the General Court in 1650. It thus
became the first higher educational institution in North America to
confer academic degrees. Then came the College of William and Mary
in Virginia, chartered by the crown in 1693 and opened as a grammar
school the following year. Yale College began as Connecticut’s collegiate
school in 1701 and was chartered by the colony as a college in 1745;
like Harvard, it was named after a benefactor. The College of New
Jersey (today known as Princeton University) received its charter from
the Governor in 1746. King’s College in New York, now Columbia Uni-
versity, began its classes in 1754 after being talked about for eight years.
The College of Philadelphia (incorporated in 1755) became the Univer-
sity of Pennsylvania in 1791. The College of Rhode Island, now Brown
University, was chartered as a Baptist institution in 1764; Queen’s Col-
lege, now Rutgers in New Jersey, the state university, was chartered
originally in 1766; and Dartmouth College, finally, was the last to be
chartered in the colonial period, in 1769. In Canada, no educational
institutions of a higher level than a seminary (at Quebec) and a couple of
grammar schools existed, even at the very end of the eighteenth century.

THE WORKING OF COLONIAL HIGHER EDUCATION

North and South, Catholic and Protestant, the founders of the first
American universities were men of strong religious belief. This was a
fundamental influence on the purposes of the institutions they set up.
From the earliest conquests in the Americas the Spanish crown had
sought to convert Indians and it long continued to assert its aim of teach-
ing Spanish to Indian boys as a part of winning them to the Faith. One
argument for the foundation at Santo Domingo had been that it would
provide for evangelism by training clergy. Another response of some
Spanish American universities to local needs was the teaching of native
languages which missionaries needed to know. The universities were,
moreover, formally open to Indians and before the eighteenth century
there were no formal restrictions barring from the universities persons
of mixed Spanish and Indian or Negro blood, mulattos or quadroons.

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

In fact, many years passed before Indians were actually admitted to them
and few actually ever became students. Effectively, higher education was
reserved to creoles. Such education of Indians as there was, seems in
fact to have been restricted to ‘colleges’ like that set up in 1536 at Santa
Cruz de Tlatelolco by the Franciscans for Indian boys of leading families,
who were catechized and taught Spanish, but such essays in cultural
assimilation did not go beyond school level.’* Yet the church and the
government nevertheless tried to do what they could to ensure that, sub-
ject to the practical limitation on those of Indian blood, university teach-
ing in the Spanish possessions in the western hemisphere should be as
good as that in Europe; the crown also always upheld the principle of
free access to public office for members of the indigenous population
trained in the universities of the Indies. A royal order of 24 November
1698 prescribed that men born in those kingdoms should enjoy the same
honours and prerogatives as men born in Castile, ‘as has always been
the undisputed practice; for they have in the past obtained all kinds of
offices and dignities’.’° Practice was probably less successful than the
general policy envisaged. That such phrases were needed suggests that
this is so.

In colonial North America a similar double pull, of a tradition harking
back to European origins and of the need to adapt to new environments
and needs, determined functions in the institutions of higher learning
which emerged there. Grammar schools and colleges were transplanted
to the West Indies and to the North American mainland colonies. There,
just as on an earlier frontier in Scotland, these transplanted institutions
flourished.'® Indeed, their very struggles to survive in an often hostile
environment appeared to give them strength. This was as true, moreover,
among the French in Canada as among the English further south. Both
drew from Europe scholars and teachers with Latin texts and elementary
scientific apparatus to join the original settlers, traders, missionaries and
adventurers who had opened the way.

Another contrast between the English colonies and the Spanish was
the slight influence which formal authorization had in defining edu-
cational purposes in the early North American grammar schools and
colleges. Whether a charter had been granted in London or Versailles,
or whether a school had been opened by English — or, indeed, French —
provincial or proprietary authorities, and whether an institution’s affili-

'* Lafaye, ‘Literature’ (note 3), 673-4.

1S J. Tate Lanning (ed.), Reales cédulas de la Real y Pontificia Universidad de México de
1551 a 1816 (Mexico, 1946), no. 80.

16 On a related matter, the similarities of Scotland and America as provincial societies in
close but ambiguous cultural relations with the metropolitan power, see J. Clive and
B. Bailyn, ‘England’s Cultural Provinces: Scotland and America’, William and Mary
Quarterly, 3rd ser., 9 (1954), 200-13.

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Exporting models

ation was Congregationalist, Anglican or Jesuit, mattered less than local
initiative. At the most general level, all the new institutions might be
said to be trying to do broadly the same thing: to preserve a way of
civilized life through the propagation of knowledge from Europe, and
above all, of religious knowledge.

This meant first and foremost the training of clergy. Thus at the very
outset of their settlement in the Massachusetts Bay the Puritans told their
brethren in England that, after they had taken care of houses, livelihood,
churches and government, they determined ‘to advance Learning and
perpetuate it to posterity; dreading to leave an illiterate ministry to the
Churches, when our present Ministers shall lie in the Dust’.’’ Their
neighbours in Connecticut followed the same path, establishing a collegi-
ate school — later to become Yale College — in order to prepare young
men for ‘Publick employment both in Church and Civil state’, a con-
scious echo of English usage."® As for the British crown, for all its formal
granting of charters to Anglican colleges in Virginia and New York, its
representatives, the colonial governors, limited themselves to supporting
proprietary and community efforts. British officials tended to believe
that the home government’s support of college foundations would
strengthen the loyalty of colonial Englishmen. Perhaps revealingly,
though, when they (or the clergy who advised them) saw attempts to
found colleges as threats to Anglican predominance and were in a pos-
ition to do so, they hindered such efforts.’

In French-speaking North America early in the seventeenth century,
the Jesuits in Quebec opened their seminaries and Latin grammar
schools first to candidates for the priesthood and then to those seeking
education for the secular professions.”° They, too, thought of the implan-
tation of a civilization in the wilderness, but primarily emphasized its
religious heritage. Later, under British rule, their schools almost nat-
urally became centres for the preservation of the Roman Catholic faith
and the French language in an English-speaking, Protestant environ-
ment. But they did not lead to anything like a university. After 1776,
Anglican clergymen, loyal to the crown and deeply out of sympathy with
the movement towards American independence, planned their departure

” Quoting S. E. Morison, The Founding of Harvard College (Cambridge, Mass., 1935),
432.

18 See charter in F. B. Dexter (ed.), Documentary History of Yale University (New Haven,
Conn., 1916), 21.

9 For instance, in New Hampshire, Georgia and North Carolina in the last two decades
before the Revolution. See J. Herbst, From Crisis to Crisis: American College Govern-
ment 1636-1819 (Cambridge, Mass., 1982), passim, and esp. 131-3.

20 L. Campeau, ‘La premiére mission des Jésuites en Nouvelle-France, 1611-1613, et les
commencements du Collége de Québec, 1626-1670’, Cahier d’histoire des Jésuites, 1
(1972), 94-6; E. Chartier, ‘The Classical Colleges of Quebec’, Proceedings of the
National Conference of Canadian Universities and Colleges, 12 (1923), 25.

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

to Canada and petitioned their church to found colleges in Nova Scotia
and New Brunswick; but these initiatives, too, only came to fruition in
the nineteenth century, when grammar schools opened in Fredericton
(1787) and Windsor (1789) became fully incorporated colleges.

In the non-Spanish West Indies, neither planters nor royal authorities
paid much attention to education at all. On the British islands a few
private foundations furnished such provision as there was. The Codring-
ton bequest on Barbados in 1710 was meant to train theologians and
physicians, but, like Harrison College in 1735, did little more than pro-
vide grammar school instruction. Most white children were sent to Eng-
land or to colleges on the American mainland. In the French islands the
home government distrusted the creole population and feared a move-
ment for autonomy. Schools were few and only a relatively small number
of white children were sent to private boarding-schools in France.” No
colleges were founded.

In their staffing, teaching methods and curricula alike, the first Amer-
ican universities and colleges inevitably worked within imported tra-
dition and the constraints imposed by the local setting. The Spanish
American retention of the five-faculty pattern in the major universities
is the clearest evidence of the first. But resources usually fell far below
intention, let alone aspiration, except in ‘minor’ institutions where the
regular Orders could provide sufficiently for the accomplishment of the
limited aims of teaching theology and canon law. Shortage of money, it
is clear, was one factor in prolonging the interval between the foun-
dation of Lima and its actual operational inauguration in the 1570s. In
the major universities many of the first graduates were already at work
teaching in them when they proceeded to their degree. Qualified pro-
fessors were often as difficult to find as the money to pay them. What-
ever the reason, the University of San Felipe in Chile could name its first
professors only in 1756, nine years after its foundation.”” The larger,
comprehensive universities were the most dependent on royal patronage;
most of their small income came from the royal treasury. The minor
universities, with fewer chairs and fewer privileges and limited powers
to award degrees, nevertheless often continued to strive to attain univer-
sity status by applying for enlarged privileges without its being clear (at

1 -J. H. Parry and P. M. Sherlock, A Short History of the West Indies (London, 1960),
246; P. Pluchon (ed.), Histoire des Antilles et de la Guyane (Toulouse, 1982), 261, 222;
W. Frijhoff and D. Julia, ‘Les grands pensionnats de |’ancien régime 4 la restauration:
la permanence d’une structure éducative’, Annales historiques de la Révolution franca-
ise, 53 (1981), 180-4.

22 J. J. Brunner, Educacién superior en América Latina: cambios y desafios (Santiago,
Chile, 1990), 17-18. The best endowed Spanish colonial university appears to have
been the University of Guatemala.

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Exporting models

least it is not now easy to ascertain) whether resources would have been
forthcoming to sustain them.

Real administrative power within the Spanish American university
usually lay with the rector, a post sometimes held in alternate years by
ecclesiastics and laymen. Students were formally allowed to participate
in the government of most universities (as at Salamanca, where the rector
was a student), but on a limited scale. The major universities here fol-
lowed the metropolitan model more closely than did the others, and in
some of them professors were elected by the students until well into the
eighteenth century, when corruption and disorders at last ended this
practice.

Teaching was based on exercises, reading and explanation of the cur-
rent lesson from the set books, answering students’ questions, lecturing
on subjects chosen by the teacher, expositions by the students, and rote
learning. Great emphasis in the faculty of arts was placed on instruction
in grammar (in this, as in classical and literary studies, the Jesuits were
recognized to be leaders). In the medical faculties, dissection was (to
judge by the statutes of Guatemala) intended to be a normal part of
teaching, and this might be thought a sign of intellectual respectability,
were there not other evidence of inadequacy to balance it.**? Attendance
at classes was supposed to be ensured by regular tests; progress in study
was assessed by examinations and other academic exercises closely
resembling those used at Salamanca, in preparation for the award of
the degrees of baccalaureate and licentiate and the doctoral or master’s
degrees. These arrangements obtained in the traditional superior facul-
ties as well as in the lower faculty of arts. Student behaviour, too, was
regulated by rules both in and outside the university. Students were
required to live in respectable houses; they were forbidden to buy goods
on credit or to bring weapons into university buildings. Their dress was
prescribed; it should be decorous and simple, and unembellished by gold
ornaments, embroidery or striking colours. Not surprisingly, the effect
of such rules seems to have been far from complete. Both academic and
disciplinary arrangements appear to have been open to increasing abuse
as time passed. At the University of Cordoba (Tucuman) a boarding-
college appears to have been opened specifically to preserve at least some
students from the contagion of the bad example of the local recruits.**

One effect: of the vacuum left in the educational life of the Spanish
colonies by the expulsion of the Jesuits was a new wave of interest in
the universities by government, sometimes expressed in a new secular

3 J. Tate Lanning, The Eighteenth-Century Enlightenment in the University of San Carlos
de Guatemala (New York, 1956), 268-72.

4 E. Martinez Paz, ‘La Vida en el Colegio Real de Nuestra Sefiora de Monserrat’, Colle-
cién de la Imprenta Jesuitica del Colegio de Monsarrat (Cordoba, 1940), xvi-xviii.

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

emphasis. But it also led to modernization of curricula and a greater use
of Spanish as the language of instruction. In the last quarter of the eight-
eenth century, the reforms pushed through in Salamanca by Charles III’s
ministers, and especially the curriculum reform of 1771, were all repro-
duced in the colonial universities.*>

No more in Puritan New England than in Anglican Virginia did the
English colonists favour independent academic corporations. Yet a con-
siderable contrast with Spanish practice is obvious in North America
and, in the long run, it favoured diversity and independence among the
new institutions, even before the end of the colonial era. Though Vir-
ginians were suspicious of the professors at William and Mary, most of
them former Oxford dons, the property of the college was transferred
to the faculty from trustees in 1729. Meanwhile, their New England
contemporaries clearly thought the Harvard and Yale tutors incapable
of governing a college. The founders of Harvard had placed it under
the supervision of the overseers, an external board of magistrates and
ministers, similar to the supervisory boards of Calvinist churches,
schools and universities from Geneva in Switzerland to Edinburgh in
Scotland. Their neighbours in Connecticut founded their school as a
trust and subsequently incorporated the clerical fellows as an indepen-
dent board. Its charter gave the College of William and Mary the legal
status of a civil corporation similar to that of the universities at Oxford
and Cambridge, and allowed its teachers representation in the Virginia
legislature. It was not denominational tyranny that eased the coming of
the independent board as the focus of college government, but the col-
leges’ realistic willingness to root themselves in the local community; in
the infancy of King’s College, New York, the urban setting and lay inter-
est may well have saved the institution at a time when denominational
passions had run high over its inception.** A far-off crown and its
officials in residence were thought either to be potentially hostile or, in
the case of the College of William and Mary in the later eighteenth
century, too supportive of the metropolitan connection.

If in their government of the colleges the colonists preferred to rely
largely on their own resources, tradition retained a powerful grip on
the curriculum. While the colonial colleges in America tended to adopt
Presbyterian models of collegiate government, they were much influ-
enced by curriculum models from the older English universities. Lec-

25 See A. M. Rodriguez Cruz, ‘Las reformas de Carlos III en la Universidad de Salamanca
y su influencia en las universidades hispanoamericanas’, in Educacion e illustracion en
Espana. III Cologuio de Historia de la Educacién (Barcelona, 1984), 285-96; H.
Cuenca, La universidad colonial (Caracas, 1967), 66-7 (a reference from Professor Ural
Pérez’s draft).

6 See D. C. Humphrey, From King’s College to Columbia, 1746-1800 (New York, 1976).

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tures, exposition of texts, recitation, declamation, and disputation as
means of teaching show striking continuities with European practice.
The influence of Cambridge may have been especially strong because of
the number of Cambridge matriculands in early New England. As for
other European influences during the seventeenth century, one can only
agree with the historian of Harvard who wrote that the further we get
from Cambridge, the more meagre is the result. Yet the influence of the
Scottish universities and Presbyterian academies (and, to a lesser degree,
that of the dissenting academies of England) was also important. It was
reinforced by later Scottish and Scotch-Irish immigrant ministers and by
Englishmen educated in the dissenting academies of their country. James
Blair, the founder and first president of William and Mary, introduced
there a telescoping of university and college characteristics which, as a
form of academic organization, proved very appropriate in areas far
removed from metropolitan centres and their relatively greater financial
resources; it showed the influence of his undergraduate experience at
Edinburgh. At Philadelphia, the first provost, William Smith, strove to
promote the change from college tutors teaching their classes in all sub-
jects to tutors specializing in a discipline, a practice he had met at Aber-
deen in the 1750s.

By the middle of the eighteenth century the growing diversity of ethnic
and religious traditions and the upheaval of the outburst of religious
enthusiasm known as the ‘Great Awakening’ made the strict denomi-
national control of college life in English North America which had
characterized the earliest foundations much more difficult to sustain.
At hitherto firmly sectarian colleges, students and professors of other
Christian denominations were guaranteed freedom of conscience and
worship. Harvard, William and Mary, and Yale, all of them denomi-
national foundations, had to make adjustments. It was not always easy
to do so. For all his great services to Yale and long service (1740-66)
and even with the support of the corporation, President Clap was driven
to resign over his fruitless efforts to maintain Congregationalist ortho-
doxy in the college. Discrimination came to be everywhere diluted with
toleration. In Philadelphia, for example, the college was open to all Prot-
estants, and Anglicans and Presbyterians shared in its administration. In
Rhode Island Baptists controlled the college, but Jewish students were
admitted to it. Yet religion still remained central to university life and
institutional identity. In New York, where the Anglican King’s College
freely admitted students of other denominations, its supporters battled
fiercely and successfully to prevent the incorporation of a rival public
college that was to be free of any formal denominational participation in
its government. As denominational entrenchment became the standard
pattern in college government, signs of dissatisfaction began to appear.

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J]. Herbst

In New Jersey, though, adherents of the Dutch Reformed Church
resented Presbyterian domination at the provincial college at Princeton,
and successfully petitioned the governor for a college of their own. The
appearance of Queen’s as a second college in New Jersey signalled the
end of an era in which charters had contained clauses forbidding dis-
crimination against students on religious grounds; the Queen’s charter
specified the college’s special mission of preparing young men for the
Dutch Reformed ministry but also obliged the college to promote the
advancement of the Protestant religion of all denominations. Toleration
of religious differences in the colleges thus established itself in colonial
times; wholly secular collegiate government had to wait until after the
Revolution.

A new phase in the establishment of colleges and universities marked
the decades following it. Independence was accompanied by greater
diversification and the creation of more private institutions than during
the colonial period. It can only be glanced at here, but it rounds off the
story of the American university before the impact of the next great
European influence to play upon it, the Humboldtian research inspi-
ration. In the last two decades of the eighteenth century, a new type of
college made its appearance. Dartmouth was founded in New
Hampshire, Williams in Massachusetts, and Dickinson in Pennsylvania.
Remote from the wealthier commercial and social urban centres at the
coast, and relying for support on individual and group philanthropy,
such smaller colleges attracted their students from rural and generally
poorer sections of the hinterland. A college education henceforth was
to be even less a privilege of the offspring of the wealthy class than
hitherto and the result was a new social diversity.

While organizational changes continued, so did others in the curricu-
lum. Its roots still lay in the traditional ground of preparatory education
in Latin in the liberal arts. The first Latin grammar schools in North
America had been opened nearly simultaneously by the Jesuits in Quebec
and by the Puritans of Massachusetts Bay. The Quebec school was
opened in 1635, and by 1663, besides the usual instruction in Latin
grammar, it offered courses in the humanities, rhetoric, philosophy,
mathematics and theology. Some of its graduates were candidates for
the priesthood at the Quebec theological seminary. The Massachusetts
Latin grammar schools were intended to prepare students for entrance
to Harvard College. Once admitted to college, boys continued to study
Latin grammar, but added to it logic, Greek, Hebrew, rhetoric, natural
history and catechetical divinity. After the student’s first year, ethics and
politics usually took the place of logic, and were in turn replaced by
natural philosophy and arithmetic, geometry and astronomy. Metaphys-
ics and moral philosophy appeared in the student’s final years; often

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taught by the college president, they were the capstones of the student’s
education. By the second half of the eighteenth century, though, modern
subjects like geography and history and French had made their appear-
ance. In the commercial centres of Philadelphia and New York, there
was a more practical orientation with greater stress on such applied skills
as surveying, measuring, navigation, commerce, husbandry, law and
government. Elsewhere, greater prominence was given to scientific disci-
plines, such as mathematics, chemistry, botany and mineralogy.”’

The eighteenth century also brought the gradual extinction of syllo-
gistic disputation in the colonial colleges and its replacement by forensic
debate as an informal and extra-curricular activity. At a time when
induction, experience and experiment became essential parts of enquiry,
the formal expository mode of the scholastic syllogism began to seem
restrictive. The attraction of the greater freedom in argument which
debate permitted was enhanced as time passed by its political rel-
evance.*® Student literary societies had begun to appear by 1750. They
were arenas of exercise in debate and oratory which appealed to future
ministers, politicians and lawyers. They drew attention to contemporary
pamphlets and essays on political and literary issues of the day, and
some societies acquired larger libraries than their colleges themselves;
this was of importance in introducing the study of belles lettres. Latin,
which had remained the language of instruction into the eighteenth cen-
tury and was used in syllogistic debates, had already lost its place as
medium of conversation, and it was now displaced in formal debate.
Like vernacular Spanish in the Central and South American universities,
English was used with ever greater frequency in the colleges. Textbooks
in English appeared in America as early as the seventeenth century.

Applicants for entrance to a North American college were usually
interviewed by the president, who tested the applicant’s skill in Latin,
Greek and arithmetic. Such interviews were more important in the per-
sonal introduction of the young man to the college than as a means of
rigorous selection. The colleges were eager for students and in many
cases offered remedial instruction in preparatory grammar classes to
boys as young as 11 or 12. Most of the students were between 15 and
17 on entrance, and had been educated until then either in the Latin
grammar schools of New England, in the many and exceedingly diverse
private schools modelled on Scottish or English dissenting academies, or

27 For a convenient summary see F. Rudolph, Curriculum: a History of the American
Undergraduate Course of Study since 1636 (San Francisco, Calif., 1977). See also J.
W. Kraus, ‘The Development of a Curriculum in the Early American Colleges’, History
of Education Quarterly, 1 (1961), 64-76.

28 D. Potter, Debating in the Colonial Chartered Colleges: an Historical Survey, 1642 to
1900 (New York, 1944).

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

by private tutor or the local minister.*”? Only after the Revolution and
in the newer colleges of the interior did the entrance ages of students
begin to go up significantly.

From the beginning, the greatest obstacle to the growth of the colonial
colleges had been poverty. John Harvard’s generosity was exceptional.
Few endowments were forthcoming to support professorial chairs or
meet other educational expenditure. Land might be given to institutions,
but (as the historian of Harvard has pointed out) land in New England
was cheap, abundant and hard to turn into revenue.*’ Apart from stud-
ent fees, such funds as the early colleges could command came from
miscellaneous sources: often from legislative appropriations and grants,
from the assignment of revenues from taxes and duties, at Harvard from
dues paid on a ferry across the Charles River, and even, during the rais-
ing of money for William and Mary, from a deal with former pirates
over the return to them of their property. The number of fee-paying
students they could recruit was therefore vital to their survival. College
presidents tried hard to attract potential students in their immediate
neighbourhood and province, providing dormitories for students who
could not live at home in order to keep their expenses down. A compari-
son of tuition fees and costs for room and board with enrolment figures
suggests that Yale, the College of New Jersey, and the College of Rhode
Island seem to have been most successful in their efforts.*’ It is true,
though, that matters changed somewhat in the eighteenth century. Pri-
vate pledges, bequests and profits from lotteries became more common
as sources of revenue for colleges and universities. Normally, such con-
tributions came from the cities and neighbouring regions of a college,
but funds were raised further afield, in other colonies, in the West Indies,
and even from subscribers in Britain and on the European continent,
often by appealing to religious sentiment and the need to support civiliz-
ation and missions with educated ministers or to convert the Indians.
By the time of the Revolution, though, these contributions had dwindled
to a trickle. The rapid spread of colleges founded by private persons and
foundations afterwards was to lead to a renewed and greater reliance
on local and denominational support.”

Besides poverty, another obstacle to growth was a shortage of quali-
fied teachers. With the exception of one president of Harvard, all heads

of colonial colleges were ministers of religion, often combining their
29 B. MacAnear, ‘College Founding in the American Colonies, 1745-1775’, Mississippi
Valley Historical Review, 42 (1955), 24-44.

Morison, Harvard College (note 17), 322.

B. MacAnear, ‘The Selection of an Alma Mater by Pre-Revolutionary Students’,
Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, 73 (1949), 429-40.

See B. MacAnear, ‘The Raising of Funds by the Colonial Colleges’, Mississippi Valley
Historical Review, 38 (1952), 591-612.

30
31

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ministry in a local church with their educational and administrative
work and viewing the latter as part of the duties of their calling. Even
if for a few years only, service in the college was a ministry. For President
Mather at Harvard, it was one accepted with some reluctance. When he
was asked to move from his Boston residence and church to the college
of which he was already a fellow, he replied: ‘should I leave preaching
to 1500 souls only to expound to forty or fifty children?’ and at first
declined, but took up office at last in 1686, only to give up in 1701
when his political opponents made it impossible for him to conduct his
ministry in Boston as he wished.*°

The president was responsible for administration and instruction as
well as for prayer and worship in the college church or chapel. He usu-
ally taught moral philosophy and supervised the professional divinity
training of the resident ‘post-graduate’ students and tutors; President
Clap served also as Yale’s professor of divinity at the corporation’s
request. Presidents normally interviewed applicants for admission,
supervised, counselled and disciplined the undergraduates, presided over
commencements, and conferred degrees on graduates. They were the
colleges’ fund-raisers, often their only administrative officers, and were
recognized to be among a colony’s most important public personalities.
Blair of William and Mary served a term as acting governor of Virginia
and John Witherspoon, president of the College of New Jersey, was a
signatory of the Declaration of Independence and a representative in the
Continental Congress (though Witherspoon’s case may be thought to
show that the demands of a public career did not always prove easily
reconcilable with the duties of a head of college). In a spirit of wide-
ranging obligations to their school and students, others found time to
write textbooks and scholarly treatises.**

In only two of the colonial college charters do we find mention of a
body of masters or professors and it was only in the second half of the
eighteenth century that a full-time academic profession appeared in
North America. The charter of William and Mary provided for two pro-
fessors each in its philosophy and in its divinity schools, and the Philad-
elphia charter defined its academic staff as provost, vice-provost, acad-
emy rector and professors. Both of these colleges, it may be noted, relied
to some degree on support from members of the Church of England and

33 Quoted in J. Quincy, History of Harvard University, vol. 1 (Boston, 1860), 499-500.
The article on Increase Mather in D. Malone (ed.), Dictionary of American Biography,
vol. x11 (New York, 1933), is a helpful summary of an interesting career.

34 See R. G. Durnin, ‘The Role of the Presidents in the American Colleges of the Colonial
Period’, History of Education Quarterly, 1 (1961), 23-31. For biographical details of
colonial college professors see W. D. Carrell, ‘Biographical List of American College
Professors to 1880’, History of Education Quarterly, 8 (1968), 358-74.

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

expected to attract teachers from the British universities. In Williams-
burg all the early masters came from Oxford. In their controversies with
the Virginia visitors they, as Anglican clergymen, naturally sought assist-
ance from ecclesiastical and government officials in London. The Philad-
elphia professors, on the other hand, were probably better known
locally; they were respected by the city’s leaders and college trustees, as
well as being experienced teachers. They were thus easily accepted as
equals and accorded the status of professionals. They stood in no need
of support from either church or government in England. As for the
other colonial colleges, the first professorial appointments were made
when finances permitted. Divinity and mathematics were usually given
priority. While most of the early professors had been educated as minis-
ters in American colleges, many of those later appointed in the new
subjects (not only medicine and law but the natural sciences and modern
languages) had been trained abroad.

It has been estimated that not more than 210 professors in all worked:
in colleges between 1750 and 1800: in the former year, only ten were
in post. Under these circumstances, early college presidents often carried
the entire responsibility for the college alone, and relied for much tuition
on graduates of the college who had returned to pursue further studies
for the ministry. The appointments of such youngsters were for the most
part temporary. At Harvard the average length of tutorial service in the
eighteenth century was nine years (though one Harvard tutor spent
fifty-five years in his role), and at Yale three. Before being appointed to
these posts, young men sometimes stayed on at the college after gradu-
ation on a fellowship, or occupied such offices as those of butler or
librarian. Others who had left tried their hand at keeping school, before
returning to make a career in higher education. Such tutors viewed them-
selves as apprentices or journeymen preparing for a professional career,
usually in the church, but also in law, medicine and science. Their teach-
ing was called ‘regenting’ and each tutor was assigned to a class which
he instructed in all subjects not covered by the president. Only in the
second half of the eighteenth century was regenting abolished; tutors,
like professors, were then allowed to specialize. Even at the end of the
eighteenth century, though, college teaching was only just beginning to
provide for professional careers in subjects other than divinity. Most
professors had begun their professional lives in some other occupation,
usually the ministry, medicine, or law, and some had gained their liveli-
hood by freelance or school teaching, and by publishing. The colleges
provided such men with the opportunity to practise their profession in
a comfortable and esteemed environment. Once these men had made the
switch to the college, they remained remarkably faithful to their aca-

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Exporting models

demic careers. Fewer than half of the colonial professors entered upon
another occupation after they had begun to teach.*°

Professional education (as distinguished from liberal arts training in
the colleges and arts faculties) was, perhaps surprisingly, first offered in
North America in 1667 by the Jesuits in the Grand Séminaire of Quebec
founded by the first bishop of the diocese. But the training of clergy (the
first example of professional formation) was taken for granted at an
early date in the English colonies, where the presidents and divinity pro-
fessors of the colleges made it available informally to resident graduates
and tutors. The first theological school independent of a college, though,
was inaugurated by the Dutch Reformed Church in New York only in
1785. Apart from this, the North American colleges did not aspire to
professional education and for a long time did not seek to provide
instruction in law and medicine. Training in those professions was left
to apprenticeship. If they sought medical degrees, colonials often crossed
the Atlantic to attend European universities, Edinburgh being their chief
destination, though continental universities also attracted them. The first
medical school was founded only in 1765, at the College of Philadelphia.
King’s College set up a chair in medicine in 1767 and William and Mary
and Harvard then soon followed. Formal legal education, finally, had
begun with the opening of a proprietary law school at Litchfield, Con-
necticut, in 1784. Soon, law professorships were established at William
and Mary, the University of Pennsylvania, and at King’s College. The
effects can be seen in changes in the recorded professions of graduates. In
the seventeenth century, something like 60 per cent of American college
graduates were ministers, whereas during the eighteenth century that
percentage shrank to slightly under 40, and, in the century’s second half
only, to 29 per cent. Physicians and lawyers grew in numbers, mean-
while, and the lawyers overtook both the other professions by the 1770s.
A more complex and richer society was reflected in this. The change
testified to an increasing professional differentiation in response to the
needs and opportunities available, rather than to any decline in the
standing of the ministry. It must always be remembered, too, that in the
early colonial period those described merely as ‘ministers’ had also car-
ried out practical legal and medical tasks in a society not richly endowed
with professionally qualified men.”

°>- W. D. Carrell, ‘American College Professors: 1750-1800’, History of Education Quar-
terly, 8 (1968), 289-305; K. McDaniel Moore, ‘The War with the Tutors: Student-
Faculty Conflict at Harvard and Yale, 1745-1771’, History of Education Quarterly,
18 (1978), 115-27.

© See table 69 in B. B. Burritt, ‘Professional Distribution of College and University Gradu-
ates’, US Bureau of Education Bulletin 1912, 19 (1912), 144, and compare with data
given by P. D. Hall, The Organisation of American Culture (New York, 1982), 310.

279

J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J. Herbst

Together with a number of eminent wealthy colonial businessmen,
landowners and politicians, professors in Philadelphia and Boston had
another important cultural impact than through teaching. They helped
to set up the earliest North American learned societies and academies
along lines suggested by European models (especially the Royal Society
of London), although the first attempts to do so proved abortive. It was
not until the 1760s that the American Philosophical Society held at Phil-
adelphia for Promoting Useful Knowledge was permanently established.
In Boston the American Academy of Arts and Sciences began its work
in 1780. Curiously enough, no such initiatives were taken in New York.
That city’s commercial interests, the Anglican domination of King’s Col-
lege, and a bent towards practical rather than philosophical discussions
perhaps discouraged there the founding of a learned society.*’

Early in the nineteenth century, further developments on the North
American continent which were to be important for the future can briefly
be noted here. In Canada the two English-speaking colleges came to be
joined by several others, but the French-speaking Quebec Seminary had
to wait until after mid-century to be chartered as a university, though
it continued to prosper. Though south of the Rio Grande a great
retrogression during the first half of the nineteenth century was to make
institutions set up under the ancien régime seem irrelevant or even
deplorable, the foundations laid in colonial times in North America were
to prove solid enough to sustain a growth already under way and which
would provide for huge expansion in the nineteenth century.

THE ACHIEVEMENT OF THE EUROPEAN UNIVERSITY MODEL
IN THE AMERICAS

It is not easy to avoid the judgement that, by the end of the colonial
period, greater intellectual and academic creativity was visible in the
university institutions of the former English colonies than in those of
Spanish America. At the same time, it must be acknowledged that the
Spanish universities had done effectively much that had been asked of
them. Their influence on the future of Central and southern America in
the post-independence era was certain to be profound. This was because
they had not swerved from the primary goals of the system, the edu-
cation of the elites, clerical and lay, required and permitted by the col-

37 See J. C. Greene, ‘Science, Learning, and Utility: Patterns of Organization in the Early
American Republic’, in A. Oleson and S. C. Brown (eds.), The Pursuit of Knowledge
in the Early American Republic: American Scientific and Learned Societies from Col-
onial Times to the Civil War (Baltimore, Md., 1976), 1-20; B. Hindle, ‘The Underside
of the Learned Society in New York, 1854-1954’, in The Pursuit of Knowledge (note

37), 84-1 16.

280

Exporting models

onial societies. They were expressions of power, ecclesiastical and royal,
created formally by acts of will on the part of the established authorities,
and never able to distance themselves from those authorities until after
independence.*® The typical Spanish colonial university can be described
as ‘an orthodox institution whose main task was to provide society with
an oligarchy wedded to the purposes of church and state’.*” South of
the Rio Grande, the university discharged with adequacy the task of
producing the relatively small number of clergy, lawyers and adminis-
trators society needed for its own reproduction, and in so doing, to
satisfy creole aspirations. If, indeed, the price of that achievement was
the sacrifice of intellectual creativity to ideological soundness (and they
did not always prove incompatible), then that is to say no more than
could be said of most European universities under the ancien régime.

One important result was a legacy to the future of a notion of the
centrality of university to public life which would make easier the poli-
ticization of the post-independence university, whose aims were almost
always to be defined as public and collective, rather than private and
individual, and for good or ill. It was an ambiguous legacy — but not
without its beneficial aspects.-In contrast, North America inherited from
the colonial period a collection of institutions marked by a diversity
of structures and goals, and substantial tolerance of expression. They
probably contributed more to the general educational level of the societ-
ies of which they were a part than did their Spanish equivalents. They
in part represented, too, a new social diversity which has been described
as far more significant than any mere increase in the number of enrolled
students, as the newer colleges of the interior had begun to make their
contribution.

The various European models drawn upon by the universities of the
New World had by the end of the eighteenth century already and inevi-
tably undergone modification in adapting themselves to new environ-
ments and the passage of time. Their settings had certainly encouraged
multiplication and proliferation, if only because one of the most striking
aspects of the American environment was its scale: geographical remote-
ness and dispersion in an era of difficult land communication explain
much of the placing of universities in the Spanish Indies. The second
modifying factor — which we might call ‘history’ — had an impact per-
haps more visible in the North American colonies where it favoured
diversity and institutional experiment in the somewhat more open-
textured social setting of post-Reformation colonies. The quarrels of
church and state absolutism, even allowing for the upheaval of the Jesuit .

38 Brunner, Educacion superior (note 22), 15.

9? J. Maier and R. W. Weatherhead (eds.), The Latin American University (Albuquerque, .
N.M., 1979), 4.

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J. Roberts, A. M. Rodriguez Cruz and J]. Herbst

dissolution, had a less stimulating impact. Finally, perhaps the most
interesting observation that can be registered is that it was in the colonial
New World that the European university models first convincingly dis-
played the potential and adaptability which they were to show again
and again in other lands, in other parts of the globe, over the next two
centuries.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Brunner, J. J. Educacién superior en América Latina: cambios y desafios,
Santiago, Chile, 1990.

Cremin, L. A. American Education: the Colonial Experience, 1607-1783, New
York, 1970.

Cuenca, H. La universidad colonial, Caracas, 1967.

Diaz-Trehchuelo Lopez-Spinola, L. La vida universitaria en las Indias. Siglos
XVI y XVII, Cordoba, 1982.

Harris, R. S$. History of Higher Education in Canada 1663-1960, Toronto,
1976.

Herbst, J. From Crisis to Crisis: American College Government 1636-1819,
Cambridge, Mass., 1982.

Herbst, J. ‘Translatio studii: The Transfer of Learning from the Old World to
the New’, History of Higher Education Annual, 12 (1992), 85-99.

Hofstadter, R. and Smith, W. (eds.) American Higher Education: a Documen-
tary History, Chicago, 1961.

Maier, J. and Weatherhead, R. W. (eds.) The Latin American University, Albu-
querque, N.M., 1979. ,

Oleson, A. and Brown, S. C. (eds.) The Pursuit of Knowledge in the Early Amer-
ican Republic: American Scientific and Learned Societies from Colonial Times
to the Civil War, Baltimore, Md., 1976.

Potter, D. Debating in the Colonial Chartered Colleges: an Historical Survey,
1642 to 1900, New York, 1944.

Robson, D. W. Educating Republicans: the College in the Era of the American
Revolution, 1750-1800, Westport, Conn., 1985.

Rodriguez Cruz, A. M. Historia de las universidades hispanoamericanas: pe-
riodo hispdanico, 2 vols., Bogota, 1973.

Rodriguez Cruz, A. M. Salmantica docet. La proyeccién de la Universidad de
Salamanca en Hispanoamérica, vol. 1, Salamanca, 1977.

Rudolph, F. The American College and University: a History, New York, 1962.

Rudolph, F. Curriculum: a History of the American Undergraduate Course of
Study since 1636, San Francisco, Calif., 1977.

Sloan, D. The Scottish Enlightenment and the American College Ideal, New
York, 1971.

Tate Lanning, J. Academic Culture in the Spanish Colonies, New York/London,

19O7I.

232

PART III

STUDENTS

CHAPTER 7

ADMISSION

MARIA ROSA DI SIMONE

ADMISSION TO THE UNIVERSITY

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, registration at a university
was subject to rules derived from medieval tradition which were broadly
the same in the whole of Europe. These were mostly customary norms.
They were given little or no place in the academic statutes, varied little
until the end of the eighteenth century, and were summarized or repeated
almost word for word in the various editions of university ordinances
in this period.

Admission to the university could take place at any time of year,
including Sundays and other feast-days. Where there were precise regu-
lations regarding the days upon which registration was possible, as at
the University of Vienna, for example, these were waived.’ The basic
formalities consisted of payment of a sum of money, swearing of an
oath to abide by the academic authorities’ decisions and registration in
a student roll.

The amount due varied according to the social position and age of
the students; nobles usually had to pay a larger contribution than the
others, and those under 25 were entitled to a reduction, while the poor-
est, and sometimes those who had no intention of graduating, were
wholly exempt.”

Payment of this fee was an important part of admission but the pro-
cess was not completed until the oath was sworn. The swearing of this
oath was the crucial moment in a student’s reception into the university

' F. Gall, Die Matrikel der Universitat Wien, vol. 1 (Graz/Cologne, 1956), xv—xvi.

2 Compare, for example, P. F. X. De Ram (ed.), Codex veterum statutorum Academiae
Lovaniensis (Brussels, 1861), ch. Xx, 1, 30 and H. Hermelink, Register zu den Matri-
keln der Universitat Tubingen 1477-1600 (Stuttgart, 1931), xi.

285

Maria Rosa di Simone

community and without it the other acts were worthless and registration
was declared null and void. Anyone who aspired to student status had
to undertake solemnly to observe the rights, privileges, statutes and cus-
toms of the university, to foster and to keep its peace, tranquillity and
concord, and to obey the rector ‘in lawful and honest matters’. These
three oaths, which were closely associated with the corporate structure
characteristic of the academies of the period, were matched, as time went
on, by others, which reflected the exacerbation of religious struggles and
a concern to check the confessional sympathies of the students. Thus,
at Louvain, from 1545 on, those enrolling were required to swear hatred
for the dogmas of Luther and of all other heretics, and loyalty to the
Church of Rome.’ Only those under 14 years old could be exempted
from the obligation to swear an oath in accordance with the tradition
of Roman and canon law,* but this was a matter entrusted to the dis-
cretion of the rector, who was sometimes governed not by what was
recorded in the registry but by his own assessment of the candidate’s
physical and mental capacities. At Heidelberg, the territorial prince, in
an attempt to settle this question, intervened expressly in 1546 in order
to decree that only those who had reached puberty could, subject to
oath, register, but his regulations were largely disregarded.°

The recording of the student’s name upon the register was originally
only of little importance, since it did not precisely and definitively regis-
ter those who were members of the university, but rather confirmed the
payment of taxes and the swearing of the oath. Registration was in itself
not enough for admission and the lack of it did not invalidate inscrip-
tion, which, on condition that one complied with the obligation to swear
the oath, remained valid and could be proved in other ways, for instance
by making use of witnesses.

Registration was supposed, in principle, to be effected by the rector
himself. In practice it was usually delegated to clerks or bedels, who
often failed to write names down or did not do so quickly or accurately
enough.® This is one reason why the registers of the period, where they
survive, prove to be chaotic, confused and very incomplete, thus making
it hard for the present-day researcher to arrive at an accurate assessment
of the number of students, of their social origin and of their movements
between the various universities. Furthermore, the registers might con-
tain not only the names of those who were actually engaged in study,

> De Ram (ed.), Codex veterum statutorum (note 2), 31N.

* On the doctrine of the medieval jurists respecting oaths sworn by minors, see E. Cortese,
La norma giuridica. Spunti storici nel diritto comune classico, vol. 1 (Milan, 1962), rff.

> G. Toepke (ed.), Die Matrikel der Universitat Heidelberg von 1386 bis 1662, vol. I
(Heidelberg, 1884), xlviiiff.

286

Admission

but also those of servants, civil servants, visitors, members of the stud-
ents’ families and other individuals who used registration to enjoy privi-
leges associated with membership of the university. Sometimes the per-
centage of registered persons of this type was fairly high, while the
names of many bona fide students went unrecorded, either because of
the mistakes or carelessness of the academic officers, or because of the
wishes of those registered, some of whom, especially during periods of
severe religious conflict, preferred not to register or else gave false names.
Far from providing us with reliable information, therefore, the registers
offer complex and highly varied evidence, which demands thoughtful
and critical reassessment if trustworthy information is to be gleaned
from it.

The oath continued to be, until the end of the eighteenth century, the
most important act for anyone wishing to register at a university. The
authorities tended to look askance at enrolment on feast-days, since it
was forbidden to swear an oath on such days; yet it is possible to discern,
both on the basis of opinions expressed by writers and in actual practice,
a gradual reassessment of the purpose of registration and a growing
reduction in the importance attached to the oath. Whereas, in 1611,
Mattia Stephani, lecturer in law at the University of Greifswald, asserted
that a student was akin to a soldier, who only became such after taking
an oath,’ a few decades later the Spanish jurisconsult, Alfonso Escobar,
maintained that the function of the oath was not really to establish the
rector’s jurisdiction over the pupil but merely to confirm it. He argued
that, as the rector’s powers derived from the university itself and, just
as in feudal law, a vassal owed fealty to his seigneur even where the
appropriate oath was never sworn, so the pupil was invariably the rec-
tor’s ‘subject’. In his view, the oath was no longer regarded as the
crowning moment of admission into the university, since the rector’s
powers over the pupil predated it; the title of student, according to Esco-
bar, was acquired by the recording of one’s name upon the register and
by actual attendance at lectures, the right to a student’s privileges being
dependent upon these criteria.” Similarly, Benito Pereyra (1535-1610),
lecturer in theology at Evora, argued that the right to be regarded as a
student should be restricted to those who, as well as featuring on the
register, attended lectures regularly, whereas anyone registered but
studying on his own account outside the university, or who attended

” M. Stephani, Tractatus de jurisdictione qualemque habeant omnes iudices tam saecu-
lares, quam ecclesiastici in imperio romano, book im, part 1: De Academiis (Frankfurt,
1611), ch. Vv, paragraph 1éff.

8 A. Escobar e Loaisa, De pontificia et regia iurisdictione in studiis generalibus et de
iudicibus et foro studiosorum (Madrid, 1643), ch. vu, 56ff.

? Escobar, De pontificia (note 8), ch. xxxu, 347ff.

287

Maria Rosa di Simone

courses without having been registered, should be disqualified.’° As far
as these two Iberian writers were concerned, the pedagogic function of
the university was thus assessed in terms of its corporate function, pre-
cisely by emphasizing the importance of a student’s actual participation
in academic life, and by reducing the importance of the formal act of
swearing an oath. From this point of view, what they have to say con-
firms the tendency evident at the Universities of Salamanca and of Evora
to diminish the importance of the customary norms generally observed
in Europe, which stipulated that a registered person, even if absent,
could enjoy a student’s privileges for a maximum of five years. At Sala-
manca, in fact, absent persons had to re-register each year, either by
letter or through a messenger, in order to make plain their intention to
return to the university,'! whereas at Evora even this option was denied
and constant attendance was required.”

In practice, registration was beginning to assume greater importance.
This was, in part, because of the growing need to control the students’
religious sympathies; universities, anxious to prevent the infiltration of
dubious elements, were induced to adopt more rigid and precise criteria
governing the names they registered. Registration was also affected to
some extent by the development of states towards early modern cen-
tralized and absolutist forms. The swearing of the oath was, from the
Middle Ages on, one of the formalities required for membership of a
guild. This original meaning, which survived the addition of other
elements of a religious character, although it was defended by the univer-
sities on the grounds that it was an expression of their own indepen-
dence, might appear to clash with the absolutist policies of governments
unfriendly to particularistic, medieval-style attitudes. Not surprisingly,
the imperial decree of 1782, which forced the University of Louvain to
abolish all of its oaths save those of a strictly religious character, aroused
extreme opposition. The university lost no time in reinstating the old
system, once the political situation permitted it.’?

Whatever his formal role in the taking of oaths or registration, the
rector, sometimes assisted by the academic senate, customarily had the
last word over admissions. Yet statutes tended to make no mention of
the criteria that had to be met, or to be vague and general. Age was not
a liability, a candidate could be very young or rather old, but writers
tended to advise against registering persons who were mere infants or
who were decrepiti, on the grounds that youth and maturity were the

B. Pereyra, Academia seu respublica literaria utiliter et nobiliter fundata (Ulyssipone,
1662), book Ix, 528.

Escobar, De pontificia (note 8), ch. xxxXII, 350-1.

Pereyra, Academia seu respublica (note 10), book Mm, 136.

De Ram (ed.), Codex veterum statutorum (note 2), 33n.

—_
wo NO —

288

Admission

conditions most suited to study.'* Social or economic circumstances were
also not supposed, in principle, to have any bearing on the matter. As
for educational attainment, statutes were usually very vague about this,
requiring nothing more than sufficient knowledge of Latin to understand
the lectures and to be able to express oneself correctly.

INTELLECTUAL PREREQUISITES

The students’ intellectual background and training were in fact very
varied. Some would already have attended the lectures of the schools,
of maestri and of private tutors, whereas others would have been wholly
untrained and would therefore have to learn the rudiments at the univer-
sity itself. The universities of the period, in fact, used to cater for all
levels of instruction, from elementary to higher, and welcomed pupils
of all ages and of all degrees of knowledge. It is therefore no accident
that the arts faculties - which, in this context, served as preparatory
institutions for the other faculties, inculcating the rudiments of general
culture needed for following a course of study — usually had the highest
attendances, even though their prestige was clearly lower. Nevertheless,
as early as the sixteenth century, some universities were beginning to be
aware of the drawbacks and disadvantages of so heterogeneous a system
of training students, and there were a fair number of attempts to remedy
the situation. In Jena in 1556, for example, the lecturers proposed that
admission be restricted to those who had passed a final examination in
the schools they had previously attended; they sought in this way to
raise the level of the student body and to render it more homogeneous.””
The plan was rejected by the local rulers, who feared that there would
be an exodus of students to places which had not made such a stipu-
lation, and that numerous masters and former pupils, whose livelihood
depended upon preparing youths for university entrance, would be
ruined. The lecturers, however, sought to influence the syllabuses of
those schools where the trivium was taught, in order to have a form of
instruction that took the university’s needs into account, and they
brought under their own control the plan of study of the paedagogium
modelled upon that of Wittenberg, which dispensed a basic humanist
education. Until the end of the eighteenth century, then, no academic
qualification was required for admission to the university, and there was
no formal link between secondary school and university. From the six-
teenth century, however, an organic and graded system began to emerge,
assuming a more systematic and definite form in the Napoleonic period.

4 Pereyra, Academia seu respublica (note 10), book Ix, 530.

SM. Steinmetz (ed.), Geschichte der Universitat Jena 1548-1958. Festgabe zum vierhun-
dertjahrigen Universitatsjubilaum, vol. 1 (Jena, 1958), 58.

289

Maria Rosa di Simone

Among the main factors behind the remarkable expansion of colleges
in the sixteenth century, one should note the fact that an ever larger
number of families felt the need to give their sons an adequate prep-
aration before sending them on to advanced studies. There was also
a growing sense that youth had to be controlled ideologically through
education in a specific religious faith. The single term ‘college’ covers
different kinds of organization, whose relations with the universities dif-
fered from place to place. Nevertheless, broadly speaking, colleges con-
stituted in some countries an embryonic form of secondary school,
which served as an intermediate stage between the elementary classes
and higher education. Some derived from the university structures, or
were closely linked to them. In France, a larger number of colleges were
formed in the shadow of the arts faculties and, though founded to house
all those who were following the academic lectures and to provide them
with a subsidiary educational structure, they had extended their sphere
of action, often admitting very young boys, still at the very beginning
of their educational itinerary; consequently, as time passed, the faculties
lost the function which they had previously enjoyed, and were often
endowed solely with the formal function of awarding diplomas.*®

This transformation began in Paris where, under the influence of
humanism in particular, initiation to grammar gradually developed into
a complete cursus, that of belles-lettres. The studia humanitatis were
introduced in the colleges exclusively, the arts faculty restricting itself
to the traditional programme. The colleges also introduced the system
of classes, ascribed to the Brethren of the Common Life (devotio
moderna). This model, known as the modus Parisiensis, was introduced
into other French and European universities (for example, at Louvain)."’

In England, colleges had been founded in much the same way as in
France but they had become distinct from the grammar schools, whose
main function had been to impart primary education. Therefore the
English colleges welcomed maturer students, who planned to devote
themselves to higher education. In some cases, the grammar school was
founded by the benefactor of a university college, for example, Win-
chester College by the founder of New College at Oxford (1379). The
presence in a college (from the fourteenth century onwards) of under-
graduates sharing a common life with more senior members raised the
issue of teaching arrangements. The colleges provided a well-developed
system of college lectures which supplemented the public lectures. The

© D. Julia, ‘La constitution du réseau des colléges en France du XVIe au XVIIle siécle’,
in J. Karafiaith and G. Granasztoi (eds.), Objet et méthodes de I’histoire de la culture.
Actes du colloque franco—hongrois de Tihany 10-14 octobre 1977 (Budapest, 1982),

7
7 See further chapter 8, p. 329, note 7.

290

Admission

examination of undergraduate candidates was undertaken by the collegi-
ate lecturers. Graduation, however, was the responsibility of a senior
university committee. Cambridge followed suit. Unlike the continental
colleges, the English colleges won the freedom to shape their own desti-
nies. The continental colleges were much more closely linked with the
faculties and government of the university and run by them.”®

The increase of colleges in Spain kept step with that of the universities.
In Salamanca, where there had been only two colleges in 1500, there
were twenty-eight by the end of the same century (not counting those
established by the religious orders for their own members). Six were
founded during this same stretch of time in Valladolid, and eight at
Alcala. In the Spanish universities no organized teaching took place
within the colleges. With the exception of the colegios mayores, the
initial goal of the colleges was to board poor undergraduate students
who were expected to attend university lectures. The six colegios may-
ores (four in Salamanca, one in Valladolid and one in Alcala) were dis-
tinguished from other colegios by their wealth and special graduation
privileges. Students entering these communities were therefore not young
beginners but mature scholars. They were selected on a competitive basis
and they were required to be baccalarii and to come from different geo-
graphical regions. Other criteria were poverty and limpieza de sangre
(of non-Jewish or non-Moorish blood). The aim of these colleges was
to form an academic and social elite.’

Alongside these colleges, and closely connected to the university
world, other educational institutions, resembling the above but with no
direct links with the universities, were also founded. This was very
common in Germany and in the Dutch Republic. In many of their states
and cities the establishment of a genuine university was too burdensome
a task and so-called gymnasia illustria were founded instead. These insti-
tutions not only offered primary and secondary education but, also, fre-
quently gave their students the opportunity to follow courses in philos-
ophy, theology, jurisprudence and medicine so that, in the end, they
resembled the universities very closely, although they were never granted
the right to award degrees.*° Many of these schools, which were often
promoted subsequently to the rank of genuine universities, were main-
tained at the expense of the citizen communities rather than at that of
the prince. One of the most famous, the one founded in Strasburg by

18M. H. Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge in Transition 1558-1642. An Essay on Changing
Relations between the English Universities and English Society (Oxford, 1959), 77fE.;
J. McConica, ‘Scholars and Commoners in Renaissance Oxford’, in Stone (ed.), The
University in Society, vol. 1, 1§1.

19M. A. Febrero Lorenzo, La pedagogia de los colegios mayores a través de su legislacién
en el siglo de oro (Madrid, 1960); Kagan, Students and Society, 65-73, 109-58.

20 See chapter 2, p. 68.

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Maria Rosa di Simone

John Sturm, dispensed religious education and scientific instruction by
means of a highly rational method characterized by division into classes
and by grades. When this school opened, 336 students were registered,
but numbers rose so rapidly that, by the 1540s, there were already 600
students. In 1566, the college won the right to award the degrees of
bachelor and of master in philosophy.*'

The main organizers of educational institutions in the Catholic count-
ries were the Jesuits. During the second half of the sixteenth century,
numerous Jesuit colleges were founded earning ever greater success
through the seriousness of their pedagogic commitment, the modernity
of their methods and the guarantee of loyalty to the Church of Rome.
Jesuit schools were often promoted to the rank of university, and some-
times pre-existing academic structures were entrusted to the direction of
the Society of Jesus.** In spite of their protests at the competition, the
universities failed to check the exodus of students from the arts and
theology faculties into the Jesuit colleges, which by the end of the six-
teenth century already had a significant number of students on their
rolls. The Roman College by the end of the sixteenth century had about
2,000 scholars of every nationality,”’ the college of Munich had 665
registered students, and at the college of Dillingen, promoted to the rank
of university in 1554, there were 750 on the rolls.2* The college of Evora
could boast 1,000 students,”° Seville had 500 students in 1563 but 1,000
by 1590, numbers at the college of Monterrey in Galicia had climbed
from 400 in 1560 to 1,200 in 1588,°° while the college of Anchin at
Douai, for instance, in 1600 housed 400 grammar boys, 600 arts stud-
ents and 100 theologians.”’

The impact of the Jesuit institutions sometimes helped to tighten the
regulations governing the academic qualifications required for regis-
tration at a university. This was especially true of cities where other
academic organization was also in the hands of the Society of Jesus, and
where the educational itinerary was therefore presented as a well-defined

71 F, Collard, ‘La pédagogie de Sturm’, in Mélanges d’histoire offerts a Charles Moeller,
Recueil de Travaux de |’Université catholique de Louvain 41, vol. m1 (Louvain/Paris,
1914), 149ff.; A. Schindling, Humanistische Hochschule und Freie Reichsstadt. Gym-
nasium und Akademie in StraSburg 1538-1621 (Wiesbaden, 1977).

G. Codina Mir, Aux sources de la pédagogie des Jésuites. Le ‘modus Parisiensis’, Biblio-
theca Instituti Historici S. I., 28 (Rome, 1968), 218ff.

D. Grasso, ‘I quattrocento anni di vita dell’Universita Gregoriana’, La civilta cattolica,
104, vol. Iv (1953), 418. On the Roman College, see R. G. Villoslada, Storia del Colle-
gio Romano dal suo inizio 1551, alla soppressione della Compagnia di Gesu 1773
(Rome, 1954).

Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, vol. 1, 402-3.

Ajo Gonzalez, Universidades hispdnicas, vol. 11, 121.

Kagan, Students and Society, 55.

L. Salembier, L’Etudiant de l’ancienne Université de Douai (Lille, 1911), 368; G.
Cardon, La Fondation de l’Université de Douai (Paris, 1892), 478-9.

24
2
26

292

Admission

sequence of compulsory stages, running from elementary education to
graduation. Coimbra was a special case, for there the baccalariatus and
the licentia awarded by the Colégio das Artes (which had been entrusted
to the Jesuits in 1555) were obligatory conditions for registering with
the faculties.?®

ACADEMIC RESTRICTIONS

If evidence of schooling was not an indispensable prerequisite for
admission into the student body, the question of religious affiliation was
crucial. On the one hand, many Protestant universities made profession
of the reformed faith compulsory; on the other, Pope Pius IV issued
the bull In sacrosancta, in 1564, which restricted degrees to those who
professed the Catholic faith.*” This latter step aroused a measure of
resistance in several Italian universities, fearful of losing their foreign
students, always a fairly high percentage of those registered. In a number
of other places, the bull altered the actual form that registration took.
In Louvain, for example, it was established in 1579 that the bull’s regu-
lations were to be applied not only to graduation but also to the actual
moment of registration.*°

Nevertheless, a rigid demarcation between the Protestant and the
Catholic camps was not achieved during the sixteenth century. Choice
of a university in the German-speaking countries depended only to a
very limited extent upon one’s creed, which was only an obstacle for
small, intransigent groups. The restrictive policy adopted by the
Habsburgs towards the Protestant schools, then, did not lead to any
drop in the number of students in the reformed universities nor to any
appreciable increase in the Catholic ones.*! In Italy, moreover, the mod-
erate and diplomatic behaviour of the rulers and of the academic and
civic authorities softened the rigours of the papal regulations. Thus, at
Perugia, between 1579 and 1600, we know that 402 students were regis-
tered as belonging to the German nation*? and at Bologna, where the

28 Estatutos da Universidade de Coimbra (1559), with an introduction by S. Leite
(Coimbra, 1963), 227-8; also relevant is M. Brand4o and M. Lopes de Almeida, A
Universidade de Coimbra. Esboco da sua historia (Coimbra, 1937), part 2, 35.

° For the text of the bull, see Bullarum diplomatum et privilegiorum Sanctorum Romano-
rum Pontificum, vu (Turin, 1862), 323ff.

°° De Ram (ed.), Codex veterum statutorum (note 2), 32n.

31 A. Kohler, ‘Bildung und Konfession. Zum Studium der Studenten aus den habsbur-
gischen Landern an Hochschulen im Reich (1560-1620)’, in G. Klingenstein, H. Lutz
and G. Stourzh (eds.), Bildung, Politik und Gesellschaft. Studien zur Geschichte des
europdischen Bildungswesens vom 16. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Wiener Beitrage zur
Geschichte der Neuzeit, 5 (Vienna, 1978), 64ff.

2 F, Weigle (ed.), Die Matrikel der deutschen Nation in Perugia (1579-1727) (Tubingen,
1956).

293

Maria Rosa di Simone

only genuine heresy trial against nine pupils at the Spanish College
occurred in 1553-4, German students were always very numerous and,
indeed, grew in numbers towards the end of the sixteenth century. In
Bologna, too, the effects of the bull Im sacrosancta were counterbalanced
by numerous privileges, especially reserved for the German nation, such
as the awarding of particular titles and legal powers to the procurators,
the granting of free admission to the degree for one German student per
year, various fiscal exemptions, the right to bear arms, and so on. At
Padua, where the university was always a haven of tolerance and of
liberty, over 6,000 German students registered in the various faculties
between 1550 and 1559 and, since their Protestant faith meant that they
often fell foul of the Inquisition, the doge in 1587 granted them a special
privilege of immunity that delivered them from the jurisdiction of that
court.** In order to remedy the drop in doctorates that the bull In sacro-
sancta had caused, in 1616 the government of Venice also founded a
college (collegium medicum) which awarded arts and medical degrees
without requiring any profession of the Catholic faith, matching it, in
1635, with a similar college, for the awarding of degrees in jurispru-
dence.*> Even in Tuscany, in spite of the papal regulations, there were
a fairly large number of German students during the sixteenth century.
In Siena, for example, registrations within the German nation for the
years between 1573 and 1600 numbered over 3,000.”

If the restrictions imposed for confessional reasons did not always
constitute an insurmountable obstacle for those belonging to the various
Christian churches, religious criteria were far more stringent for Jews,
who could not obtain a degree. This ban was a direct consequence, in
legal terms, of their general debarment from the holding of public office,
which went back to a law promulgated in aD 384 under the Emperors
Theodosius and Valentinian. Medieval jurists regarded the title of doctor
as entailing privileges, dignities and legal powers that were incompatible
with the status of non-Christians and, in the sixteenth century, Popes

°3-L. Simeoni, Storia dell’Universita di Bologna, vol. u: L’eta moderna (1500-1888)
(Bologna, 1940), 10.
*4 B. Brugi, ‘Gli studenti tedeschi e la S. Inquisizione a Padova nella seconda meta del
secolo XVI’, in Atti del R. Instituto Veneto di scienze, lettere ed arti, vol. v, ser. vl
(1893-4), IOI 5-33.
Brugi ‘Gli studenti tedeschi’ (note 34), 1032; on this argument, see A. Stella, ‘Tentativi
controriformistici nell’Universita di Padova e il rettorato di Andrea Gotinski’, in Rela-
zioni tra Padova e la Polonia. Studi in onore dell’Universita di Cracovia nel VI centena-
rio della sua fondazione, edited by the Comitato per la storia dell’Universita di Padova
(Padua, 1964), 75ff. In a recent study, however, it has been shown that a Venetian
college of physicians, distinct from a Paduan one, was already in existence as early as
1316, see R. Palmer, The ‘Studio’ of Venice and its Graduates in the Sixteenth Century
(Padua/Trieste, 1983).
°° F, Weigle (ed.), Die Matrikel der deutschen Nation in Siena (1573-1738), 2 vols.
(Tiibingen, 1962).

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Paul IV and Pius V forbade Jews to practise medicine on Christians.*’
Nevertheless, in spite of this legislation and these doctrines, a number
of Jews did obtain a degree through special papal dispensation and, in
the seventeenth century, many of them were welcomed by the Universit-
ies of Siena, Perugia, Pavia and, above all, Padua. At the latter university,
80 Jews of various ‘nationalities’ graduated between 1517 and 1619,
and the figure rose to 149 between 1619 and 1721.°® No matter which
country they came from, they were invariably grouped with the Roman
nation. Registration cost them three times as much as other students
but, in spite of discrimination of this kind, Padua continued for a long
time to be a centre of attraction for European Jews.”

In the course of the seventeenth century, the Dutch universities fol-
lowed the example of the Italian ones, and began to award degrees to
Jews. By 1700, a number of German universities had also allowed Jews
access to courses, although they were not permitted to qualify for the
doctorate. Indeed, it was the eighteenth century that saw the definitive
breakdown of the traditional restrictions. Thus, in the University of
Frankfurt-on-Oder, Jewish graduates between the beginning of the cen-
tury and 1810 numbered around 130; there were 21 at Duisburg
between 1708 and 1807.*° Developments were at first somewhat slower
in the Habsburg universities. For example, in Prague, where the Jewish
community had long since organized a centre for higher education which
was regarded as a genuine university (in spite of the repeated bans on
the use of such a term), the city’s university remained closed to the Jews
until the end of the eighteenth century. The first sign of a thaw came in
1774, when Jews were allowed to sit examinations in the faculties of
medicine, on the understanding that they could only practise their pro-
fession within their own communities. The last restrictions on regis-
tration and graduation were finally removed only by the decrees of 1781
and 1782.7!

Restrictions on grounds of sex took longer to overcome. There was
in general more resistance to their removal, so real progress in this area
was only made in the course of the nineteenth century. Pereyra declared
himself to be wholly opposed to the example of Antiquity, when women

>? On this argument, see C. Roth, ‘Le universita del medioevo e gli ebrei’, La rassegna
mensile di Israel, vi/9-10 (1932), 431ff.; G. Kisch, Die Universitaten und die Juden:
eine historische Betrachtung zur Fiinfhundertjabrfeier der Universitat Basel, Philosophie
und Geschichte, 77 (Tiibingen, 1961), 15-16.

E. Veronese Ceseracciu, ‘Ebrei laureati a Padova nel Cinquecento’, Quaderni per la
storia dell’Universita di Padova, 13 (1980), 151-68.

B. Brugi, Gli scolari dello Studio di Padova nel Cinquecento, 2nd edn (Verona, 1905),
48-9.

G. Kisch, Die Prager Universitat und die Juden 1348-1848. Mit Beitraégen zur Ge-
schichte des Medizinstudiums (Mahrisch/Ostrau, 1935), 25ff.

Kisch, Die Prager Universitat (note 40), 48ff.

295

Maria Rosa di Simone

had been admitted to the public schools. He feared promiscuous behav-
iour among the students and, in addition, he opposed the idea of young
persons being educated in exclusively female lower and higher insti-
tutions, on the grounds that their studies might distract them from their
domestic duties.** Pereyra also regarded the notion of women teaching
as wholly unacceptable and, in agreement with jurisprudence, which
rejected their right to graduate (for much the same reasons as it had
debarred the Jews), emphasized how pointless it would be to embark
upon a course of study which could not be pursued to its proper con-
clusion. Nevertheless, this same period witnessed the first scattered signs
of a change of perspective. In general, where women’s names appeared
on the university registers, we can be sure that they were not those of
students but, rather, servants, widows, etc., who had merely registered
in order to enjoy a student’s privileges. However, there were one or two
significant episodes in the course of the seventeenth century. In Utrecht,
for example, a particularly diligent young woman, Anna Maria van
Schurman, was granted permission to follow university lectures, on con-
dition that she stayed concealed behind a curtain.*? At Padua, in 1678,
Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia, after having pleaded in vain to gradu-
ate in theology, obtained a doctorate in philosophy. She was the first
woman to receive a university degree.** This remarkable episode, which
created a stir throughout Europe, was in part due to the great influence
enjoyed by Elena’s family which belonged to the ancient and powerful
Venetian nobility, but the hopes aroused in other women by this event
were to be disappointed. The bid by the daughter of a Paduan professor,
Carla Gabriella Patin, to enrol for a doctorate, was immediately blocked
by the academic authorities, who were clearly worried that the phenom-
enon might spread,* and it was a full fifty years before a second woman
was able to obtain the title of doctor. The woman in question was Laura
Bassi, who graduated in philosophy at Bologna in 1732; she won the
support of Benedict XIV, who had also offered a chair in mathematics
to Gaetana Agnesi,*° and she thereby obtained a lectureship in the same

“2 Pereyra, Academia seu respublica (note 10), book Ix, 530-1.

* U. Birch, Anna van Schurman Artist, Scholar, Saint (London, 1909), 53ff.; A. M. H.
Douma, Anna Maria van Schurman en de Studie der Vrouw (Paris/Amsterdam, 1924),
13ff.

F. L. Maschietto, Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia (1646-1684) prima donna laureata
nel mondo (Padua, 1978); M. Tonzig, ‘Elena Lucrezia Cornaro Piscopia (1646-1684)
prima donna laureata’, Quaderni per la storia dell’Universita di Padova, 6 (1973),
183-92.

Maschietto, Elena Lucrezia Cornaro (note 44), 133ff.

On Laura Bassi, see C. Villani, Stelle femminili. Dizionario bio-bibliografico (Naples/
Rome/Milan, 1915), 7off.; on Gaetana Agnesi, C. Villani, Stelle femminili. Dizionario
bio-bibliografico (Naples/Rome/Milan, 1915), 9ff.; M. Gliozzi and G. F. Orlandelli,

45
46

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university. In Germany, after some Ph.D.s (Wittenberg 1733, Greifswald
1750), the first degree obtained by a woman in a professional faculty
was the MD conferred in 1754 at Halle on Dorothea Erzleben, daughter
of the Quedlinburg physician Leporin and an active feminist writer.*’ In
1777, Maria Pellegrina Amoretti graduated at Pavia, in jurisprudence,
and 1785, at Alcala, Maria Isidora Quintina Guzman y la Cerda
obtained a doctorate in philosophy and letters.** Although these were
isolated examples, academic institutions in the eighteenth century gave
the appearance of being less opposed than previously to the presence of
women, and at the same time the problem of the education of women
became an increasingly serious topic of discussion for many European
writers. Meanwhile, a network of women’s schools founded during the
seventeenth century for predominantly religious and confessional pur-
poses was spreading across the whole continent.

ATTENDANCE TRENDS

Previously, assessment of the social and cultural role of the universities
in the states in which they were situated and, in general, within the
European context, depended upon information about lecturers and
books. Today, however, historians have turned to quantitative investi-
gation of registration. As well as serving to round off the history of
universities as institutions, this topic must be an important link between
the academic world and the wider social and political reality of modern
Europe. It sheds light upon such general questions as relations between
the classes or channels for the dissemination of various cultural tendenc-
ies across the continent. The size and composition of the student body
were in fact closely linked not only to circumstances in the life of specific
institutions, such as the cultural prestige enjoyed by individual lecturers,
the cost of registration and of graduation, the greater or lesser difficulty
of the final examinations, the severity of the discipline, etc., but also to
events of a more general nature, such as wars, the laws and regulations
of individual states, political relations between them, epidemics, or
struggles for power between the various classes. In this perspective, the
period running from the beginning of the sixteenth century to the end
of the eighteenth century offers a particularly interesting field of enquiry,
if one takes into account the radical transformations under way in sev-

‘Agnesi Maria Gaetana’, in Dizionario biografico degli Italiani, vol. 1 (Rome, 1960),
4rff.

*? L. Bucheim, ‘Erxleben Dorothea Christiane’, in Neue Deutsche Biographie, vol. Iv
(Berlin, 1959), 637-8.

*® Tonzig, ‘Elena Piscopia’ (note 44), 183ff.

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Maria Rosa di Simone

eral European states, as they gradually emerged from the universalism
of the medieval world-view and adopted an increasingly modern and
centralized character.

The few studies made of this topic in the past were mostly carried out
by experts in statistics, and they tended simply to count the data con-
tained in the registers, without taking into account circumstances which,
as has been demonstrated,” sometimes have a perceptible influence upon
the outcome of the research. The destruction, or the poor condition, of
many of the registers means that assessing the numbers of students pre-
sent in any given university is complex and difficult. This difficulty is
compounded by the fact that such research has hitherto been very unbal-
anced, with undue emphasis being placed on some countries rather than
others. In some cases, we now have rich and articulated documentation
at our disposal, but many institutions have not as yet been the subject
of even partial investigation. One should also bear in mind that the
European universities developed very differently from country to country
and that, even within a single state, it was not uncommon to come across
major discrepancies between particular cases. Given this background, it
may well seem hazardous to attempt to sketch a complete and general
picture of the numerical changes occurring in the student population of
Europe. Nevertheless, in spite of the many undeniable local variations,
it is possible to identify a number of lines of development which would
seem to be common to the universities of Europe and which permit an
overall assessment, even though there may well be confusions and
exceptions.

Considered overall, the sixteenth century seems to have been a period
of great vitality and development for the universities of Europe. Neither
the splitting of the Christian world nor the wars of religion could, finally,
stifle the enthusiasm that humanist culture had aroused almost every-
where. Thus, after a first phase marked by dislocation and confusion,
spiritual conflicts led to the founding of numerous new universities, both
Protestant and Catholic, and the need to prepare new ideological wea-
pons meant that no effort was spared to create modern and efficient
educational institutions. On the other hand, the transformation of the
various states into centralized and absolutist organisms involved the
recruitment of a new bureaucracy, whose formation was mainly
entrusted to the university. This therefore meant that an ever larger
number of citizens with aspirations to public office were drawn into the
universities. This combination of circumstances meant that the overall
number of students during the sixteenth century was very high every-

” W. Frijhoff, ‘Grandeur des nombres et miséres des réalités: la courbe de Franz Eulenburg

et le débat sur le nombre d’intellectuels en Allemagne, 1576-1815’, in Populations étu-
diantes, vol. 1, 23-7.

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where, although the pace of the increase varied from country to country
and there were irregularities of intake within particular states.

Observing this phenomenon for the universities of Oxford and Cam-
bridge, Lawrence Stone developed his thesis of an educational revolution
at the end of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the seventeenth
century.” The vigour of this thesis has assured its international success,
all the more so since the principal proof that Lawrence Stone provides,
that of university curves, was to be found elsewhere. Presenting a pro-
visional assessment of similar research published or under way on other
countries — Castile, Coimbra, the Empire, Louvain, the United Prov-
inces*’ — Roger Chartier and Jacques Revel have concluded that the
English development model was exemplary. With the exception of the
Portuguese case, all of these multi-century graphs have a similar appear-
ance: an upswing which straddles the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries
was invariably followed by a decline extending over more than a cen-
tury. Only the apex of the curve varies; it would be at around 1590 in
Castile, 1610 in the Empire, 1630-40 in England, 1640-50 in the United
Provinces, 1660 in Louvain.” In all these countries, a socio-cultural
mechanism would be at work producing a convergent demand for edu-
cation from the rising bourgeois strata, and a demand for qualified civil
servants from the principal employers such as the churches and the state
institutions. Moreover, in the United Provinces, Switzerland (Geneva)
and certain parts of the Empire, the Calvinist breakthrough played a
role similar to that played by the English Puritans. We should not under-
estimate, however, the educational effort which was made by the Cath-
olic Reformation at the same time as that of the Protestants. This, as
we know now, was mainly an immense endeavour to educate both
priests and the faithful.

Similar curves could be added: that of the Polish national university
in Cracow, for example, where the peak of the graph (which was less
sharp than in western Europe) was reached towards 1640.°° So here we
are in the presence of a vast area of countries stretching from England
to Poland which apparently followed the same overall educational trend.
This was not the same for southern Europe. If the material is much

°° L. Stone, ‘The Educational Revolution in England 1560-1640’, Past and Present, 28
(1964), 41-80; L. Stone, ‘Literacy and Education in England’, Past and Present, 42
(1969), 69-139; L. Stone, The Crisis of the Aristocracy 1558-1641 (Oxford, 1965).

°' R. Chartier and J. Revel, ‘Université et société dans |’Europe moderne: position des
problémes’, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 25 (1978), 353-74.

°° As we do not know anything about the matriculations at Douai, then still the other
university of the Spanish Netherlands (the town was conquered by France in 1667-8),
Chartier and Revel improperly speak of the Southern Netherlands as a whole.

°° I. Kaniewska, ‘La conjoncture étudiante de l’Université de Cracovie aux X VIle et X VIIIe
siécles’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 135-52.

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Maria Rosa di Simone

more disparate here, in particular as far as Italy is concerned, the results
obtained do converge. They show a model which developed differently.
Of course, we cannot deny that throughout the whole of Roman Europe
enrolment increased towards the end of the sixteenth century. Richard
Kagan’s global approach has sufficiently proved it for Spain, where it
was mainly the two laws (civil and canon) which were responsible for
the rise in figures. A more detailed study for Salamanca showed that the
continuation of the increase after 1600 was an optical illusion, due to
students enrolling in different faculties at one and the same time” — a
problem which can only be solved by a patient and wearisome reconsti-
tuting of each individual cursus studiorum — but this does not, neverthe-
less, invalidate Kagan’s conclusion. However, the increase is not so vis-
ible in the graphs of Mediterranean countries with a more precocious
growth, such as Italy and Portugal.°*> As for France, data for the six-
teenth century appear to be too fragmentary to allow us to give an opi-
nion on the country as a whole. The rare figures available for these other
faculties, once the numerous foreign students on their pilgrimage have
been subtracted, do not suggest a marked increase in numbers enrolled
in the French universities in the sixteenth century and so they do not
confirm the general proposition of a university educational revolution.
The seventeenth century as a whole seems sluggish everywhere. The
eighteenth century, however, rather than initiating a slow recovery,
showed a spectacular increase in the medical population in response to
a social demand which the university strove to meet.”®

If the sixteenth century was, when all is said and done, a period of
growth for the universities, the seventeenth century presented a some-
what different picture. The stasis and decadence that were evident vir-
tually everywhere were the outcome of another complex combination
of ideological, social and political factors. The Thirty Years War, the
English Revolution and the Fronde, the entrenchment of Protestants and
Catholics within their respective creeds, and the increased power of the
noble class all had a profound impact upon academic life, of which the

°4 L. E. Rodriguez-Sampedro Bezares, ‘La matricula en la Universidad de Salamanca
1598-1625’, Historia de la educaci6n, 5 (1986), 71-106; L. E. Rodriguez-Sampedro
Bezares, La Universidad salmantina del Barroco, périodo 1598-1625, vol.
(Salamanca, 1986), 72-3, 178; J.-M. Pelorson, Les ‘Letrados’, juristes castillans sous
Philippe HI. Recherches sur leur place dans la société, la culture et l’état (Poitiers, s.d.
[1980]), ror.

°° R. L. Kagan, ‘Le universita in Italia 1500-1700’, Societa e storia, 7 (1985), 275-317;
English version: ‘Universities in Italy 1500-1700’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1,
154-86.

°° —D. Julia and J. Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études dans la France moderne’, in Popu-
lations étudiantes, vol. 1, 25-486.

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first visible and general consequence was a drop in registrations almost
everywhere.°’

The university world of the seventeenth century, then, although varied
in place and time, presented a less flourishing picture than did that of
the sixteenth century. There was a general drop in registrations, which
can be explained not only by the upheavals occasioned by wars and by
religion, but also by the reduced opportunities for obtaining posts in the
civil service, for these had now become for the most part hereditary and
in the control of closed social groups. As the chances of finding work
after university decreased, its cultural level often regressed and teaching
seemed to depend upon the repetition of outmoded forms rather than
upon research and the transmission of new methods and up-to-date
materials.

The situation of universities in the eighteenth century was even more
diverse and complex, and even less easy to grasp as a general phenom-
enon. In many countries, especially during the first half of the century,
registrations continued to be fairly low or continued to fall, but else-
where a degree of improvement was evident so that, in the second half
of the century, there was a decided recovery in some cases. By now,
however, the various universities within one and the same state were
beginning to be affected quite differently.

Generally speaking, we can note a clear difference between trends in
numbers in northern European universities and in those in Roman
Europe. The difference is due to an earlier recovery in growth of the
universities in the Roman countries in the eighteenth century. But we
could claim that Germanic Europe and England were the exception here,
for a similar increase could be seen in the second half of the eighteenth
century in Scotland, in Edinburgh (the ‘British Athens’) and Glasgow,”®
and in Scandinavia. These were also the days when the Russian univer-
sities were founded.

Even if, therefore, the overall picture of attendance at the European
universities was anything but uniform, the great advances in student
numbers in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century and in
the late eighteenth century, so far as contemporaries were concerned,
began to be a cause of concern, and became a target for ever more
urgent criticisms. Even in the seventeenth century, Hobbes, Comenius
and Seckendorf had already pointed out the social and cultural disad-
vantages of overcrowding the universities, but in the eighteenth cen-

°? See, for further numbers, pp. 302-11.

°8 For the context, see: N. T. Phillipson, ‘Culture and Society in the 18th-Century Province:
the Case of Edinburgh and the Scottish Enlightenment’, in Stone (ed.), The University
in Society, vol. 1, 407-48.

301

Maria Rosa di Simone

tury the problem, especially in German-speaking areas, was yet more
insistently emphasized. Justus Moser, Johann David Michaelis and
Joseph von Sonnenfels, in particular, took it upon themselves to call
for control of the number of persons registered, so that a degree of
correspondence might be achieved between the number of graduates
and the posts available, thereby avoiding the problems arising from
the unemployment of intellectuals.°? (On the discussion of the ‘alien-
ated intellectuals’, see chapter 9.)

NUMBERS

Let us consider some countries in more detail.

Taking all the necessary critical precautions, Lawrence Stone has
drawn up the enrolment graphs for the two English universities (Oxford
and Cambridge) for a multi-century period stretching from 1500 to
1910.° The number of students had risen during the early decades of
the sixteenth century, only to fall drastically between 1530 and 1550.
The cause of this decline was mainly confessional in nature. Both Oxford
and Cambridge had until then performed the crucial function of educat-
ing the ecclesiastical intellectual elite, and the majority of those regis-
tered were occupied in the study of canon law. In 1535, when Henry
VIII banned the teaching of this discipline and the awarding of the corre-
sponding degrees, the university lecture-halls quickly emptied, while the
disbanding of the monastic orders and the confiscation of their property
led to a drastic fall in attendance for other disciplines also. Nevertheless,
during the thirty years after 1550, recovery was both perceptible and
rapid and during the following decades, from 1580 until 1640, annual
admissions to Oxford and to Cambridge averaged 450. The real crisis
began in 1670 and continued until the beginning of the nineteenth cen-
tury. In the decade 1680-9, the average numbers of students admitted
each year to Oxford and Cambridge were 321 and 294, respectively;
between 1690 and 1699, these figures fell further to 303 and 238. In the
eighteenth century the crisis intensified. For a good part of this century,
registrations at Oxford were below 300 per year (the lowest figures being
recorded for the period 1750-9, when only 182 students were admitted),
while registrations at Cambridge, after the 1730s, were below 200 per
year. Thus, while English institutions for primary and secondary edu-
cation continued to develop, thanks to a series of initiatives for the edu-

°? On Sonnenfels’s criticism of the universities of his time, see M. R. Di Simone, Aspetti
della cultura giuridica austriaca nel Settecento (Rome, 1984), 160. See note 145.

6° Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen, 15ff.; L. Stone, ‘The Size and Composition of the
Oxford Student Body’, in Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, 3-110, especially
tables 1A and 1B, 91-2; Stone, ‘Educational Revolution’ (note 50).

302

Admission

cation of the various social classes, the universities failed to recover from
their earlier decadent condition.°'

Equivalent research for continental universities gives similar multi-
century graphs.

The revision proposed for the German figures calculated by Eulen-
burg, who had not taken account of cumulative enrolment by pilgrimage
students, much more numerous at the beginning of the early modern
times than at the end, situates the apex of the German graph almost a
century later, around 1700, but does not really affect the appearance of
the graph. There again, the eighteenth century is marked by a slow but
steady drop in gross numbers.°*

According to these new calculations, at the beginning of the sixteenth
century there were about 4,200 university students in Germany, an
impressive figure if one compares it with the 1,200 or so usually regis-
tered in the fourteenth century. This substantial increase was checked
by the social and religious troubles which broke out in the 1520s.
Between 1526 and 1530, the total number of students fell to 650; many
universities found their intake of young people reduced to a third of
what it had previously been.®* Nevertheless, this was a period of adjust-
ment which was atypical. If students deserted the universities in large
numbers it was primarily due to the fact that a considerable proportion
of those registered there were clerics. It was a historical moment of great
disorientation for those who had to leave their monasteries and to aban-
don their benefices, and they were almost wholly uncertain as to what
lay in store for them. Registrations started to increase again, though, as
the new Protestant universities (at Marburg, Konigsberg and Jena, for
example) were established, and as political life returned to normal, and
they continued to grow until the early years of the seventeenth century.”

Religion affected student attendances in the Catholic countries. Regis-
trations climbed in the early part of the century, only to fall precipitously
later, both because of confessional struggles and because of the rival
attractions of new educational institutions, those run by the Jesuits in
particular, although these institutions were often closely linked to the
universities. The University of Vienna, for instance (which, around the

61 J. Pons, L’Education en Angleterre entre 1750 et 1800. Apercu sur l’influence pédago-
gique de J. J]. Rousseau en Angleterre (Paris, 1919), 12ff.; M. L. Clarke, Classical Edu-
cation in Britain 1500-1900 (Cambridge, 1959), 46ff.

6 W. Frijhoff, ‘Surplus ou déficit? Hypothéses sur le nombre réel des étudiants en Alle-
magne 4a l’€poque moderne (1576-1815)’, Francia, 7 (1979), 173-218; a revised version:
Frijhoff, ‘Grandeur’ (note 49); revision of: F. Eulenburg, Die Frequenz der deutschen
Universitaten von ibrer Griindung bis zur Gegenwart, Abhandlungen der philologisch-
historischen Klasse der kGnigl. saéchsischen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, xxIv, 2
(Leipzig, 1904).

°§ Eulenburg, Die Frequenz (note 62), 51-2.

6 Eulenburg, Die Frequenz (note 62), 75-6.

393

Maria Rosa di Simone

mid-fifteenth century, had about 800 students and, at the beginning of
the sixteenth century, had more than 1,000 and was therefore the most
frequented of all the German-speaking universities), saw its registrations
decline during the second half of the century to such an extent that, in
1580, numbers were as low as 200.°°

In Germany, the sixteenth-century rise in registrations had lasted until
1620. The Thirty Years War, however, abruptly reversed this trend,
although not every university was affected in the same way. Those which
were spared by the war — KGnigsberg and Jena among them - actually
expanded significantly. Nevertheless, the majority were hard hit by the
wars. The University of Helmstedt, for example, was virtually annihil-
ated during the conflict, and the University of Strasburg went into total
decline after the French conquest.® Broadly speaking, the Catholic uni-
versities were less affected because of their organic links with the Jesuit
colleges, which continued to send their pupils to the university faculties.
Thus, at the University of Dillingen, attendances stayed fairly steady for
the whole of the century,°’ and the University of Ingolstadt enrolled over
1,000 students in 1641-8; this is admittedly less than half the intake of
twenty years before, but represents a respectable figure when compared
with German averages for the period.®*

The twenty-eight universities in existence in Germany at the beginning
of the eighteenth century opened their doors to around 9,000 students,
with an average of 290 students in each (somewhat lower, it should be
noted, than the figure of 400 students calculated for the period before
the Thirty Years War). Instead of improving, this situation worsened
overall in the course of the century, so that by the 1760s the average
was down to around 220 registrations per university. Nevertheless,
while some universities (Rostock, Greifswald, Duisburg and Paderborn)
barely managed to survive, with fewer than roo students each, others
(Wittenberg, Leipzig and Halle) had over 500 students. G6ttingen,
founded in 1733, had 625 students registered in 1750 and 800 in 1790.”

Some universities within the Habsburg dominions also managed to
survive the crisis, and even to add to their student populations, thanks
in part to the prudent reforming policies emanating from the state.
Vienna, for example, had 150,000 students all told in the course of the

65 ©, Redlich, ‘Die geistliche Stellung und Bedeutung der Universitat Wien’, in O. Redlich,
Ausgewahlte Schriften (Zurich/Leipzig/Vienna, 1928), 103ff.; F. Gall, Alma Mater
‘Rudolphina 1365-1965. Die Wiener Universitat und ihre Studenten (Vienna, 1965),
165ff.

° Eulenburg, Die Frequenz (note 62), 75ff.

°”? Eulenburg, Die Frequenz (note 62), 96.

6&8 R.A. Miiller, Universitat und Adel. Eine soziostrukturelle Studie zur Geschichte der
bayerischen Landesuniversitat Ingolstadt 1472-1648 (Berlin, 1974), 6off.

°° McClelland, State, Society and University, 28.

304

Admission

eighteenth century, and this is a significant increase over the 63,000 of
the previous century.”” At the University of Innsbruck, founded at the
end of the seventeenth century, the number of students registered at the
faculty of philosophy climbed from 138 in 1700-1, to 303 in 1734-5.”

In the former Low Countries, in the first half of the sixteenth century,
the influence of Brabant humanism in particular attracted a considerable
number of novicii or freshmen (up to 800 new enrolments per year) to
Louvain University. The second half of the sixteenth century, however,
was catastrophic. Competition from the University of Douai (founded
in 1562), the economic crisis and religious and political troubles caused
a marked fall in numbers. This was so great that the university had to
close its doors temporarily in the 1580s. Following the restoration of
the Catholic Low Countries after 1585, a steady increase in enrolment
can be noted up to 1645-60 (with once again peaks of 800 new enrol-
ments per year). This marked increase was followed by a large drop and
stagnation below 500 annual enrolments until the university was closed
insE7og.

The universities of the northern Low Countries, on the contrary, were
very attractive, both for Netherlanders and foreigners. The graph of
Dutch graduates approached the model of the educational revolution,
but here the peak was displaced towards the 1665-90 period (with an
average of 107 graduations per year). Moreover, when the large pro-
portion of foreigners who had come to take their degrees in the United
Provinces (an average of 30 per cent between 1675 and 1725) is dis-
counted, a significant increase in the graduate graph can be noted from
the foundation of the Republic up to 1670-80.”

This exceptional case undoubtedly owes much to the climate of
religious tolerance and the level of Dutch cultural life in that period.
This made the Dutch institutions of higher education very attractive to
students of both their own and other nationalities.”

The Scandinavians stood out among these other nationalities. There
were, for example, over a hundred Swedes enrolled in the 1630s. In this
same period there was a significant increase in new enrolments in the
Swedish universities themselves (Uppsala, Dorpat, Abo and Lund).
Numbers rose from 228 in the 1610-14 period to 1596 in 1640-4; the

7 Gall, Alma Mater Rudolphina (note 65), 165.

” F, Huter, Die Matrikel der Universitat Innsbruck, vol. 1: Matricula philosophica, 2 parts
(Innsbruck, 1952-4), part 2, xxxiiff. and table 1, xli.

7 E. Lamberts and J. Roegiers (eds.), Leuven University 1425-1985 (Louvain, 1990),

8-9.

rijhoff, Gradués, 97ff. and 379ff.; on the relation between matriculation and gradu-
ation see chapter 9, pp. 377-87.

™ Frijhoff, Gradués, 97ff.

4
733 -£

305

Maria Rosa di Simone

peak was only reached around 1700, however, with 2,129 novicii in
1690-5.”

Cracow too followed the same model. During the second half of the
sixteenth century and the first half of the seventeenth century, the aver-
age number of registrations (calculated at fifty-year intervals) at Cracow
stood at 248.8, and the noteworthy influx of students that reached a
peak between 1620 and 1640 has been explained by most scholars in
terms of the solidarity felt by the noble class towards the university in
its struggle against the Jesuits. However, after 1650, the number of
enrolments fell steadily until, in the second half of the eighteenth cen-
tury, the average was 176.3.”°

In the Iberian peninsula the second half of the sixteenth century was
a period of expansion, due, inter alia, to the founding of numerous new
universities (twenty-eight between 1474 and 1620) and the strengthen-
ing of those already existing. Indeed, Alcala had almost 2,000 annual
admissions;’’ the University of Coimbra, founded in 1537, already had
as many as 537 registrations by 1540, a figure which had risen to 2,882
in 1578.’° Towards the end of the century, annual admissions at Salam-
anca had almost touched 7,000, those at Alcala oscillated around the
3,000-4,000 mark, those at Santiago were over 3,000 and those at Val-
ladolid were around 2,000. The plague which broke out between 1595
and 1602 curbed this growth in the student population, yet by 1620 the
situation was again what it had been before.”” The economic crisis and
the climate of violence and intolerance that prevailed in the universities
in Spain in the course of the seventeenth century occasioned a sharp
drop in registrations, which, according to some scholars, fell to under
3,000 in Salamanca in 1650, and to around 2,000 in Alcala in that same
year. They were to drop still further by the end of the century.®” There
were other universities, however, whose student population did not

”> Kaniewska, ‘La conjoncture étudiante’ (note 53), 135-52.

7° L. Pinborg, ‘Danish Students 1450-1535 and the University of Copenhagen’, Cahiers
de I’ Institut du Moyen Age grec et latin, 37 (Copenhagen, 1981), 96; L. Niléhn, Peregri-
natio academica. Det Svenska Samhdllet och de utrikes studieresorna under 1600-talet
(Lund, 1983), 138 and 165.

V. De la Fuente, Historia de las universidades, colegios y demds establecimientos de
ensenanza en Espana, 4 vols, vol. m. (Madrid, 1884-9), 194ff.; M. Peset and J. L. Peset,
La Universidad Espanola (siglos XVIII y XIX). Despotismo ilustrado y revoluci6n lib-
eral (Madrid, 1974), 51.

A. De Vasconcelos, ‘Estatistica das matriculas efectuadas na Universidade de Coimbra
durante dois séculos (1573-1772)’, in A. De Vasconcelos, Escritos varios relativos a
universidade dioniziana, vol. 1 (Coimbra, 1938), 111ff., especially 118.

R. L. Kagan, ‘Universities in Castile 1500-1700’, Past and Present, 40 (1970), 44-71;
revised version in Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, 355-405; Kagan, Stud-
ents and Society, 197-8.

De la Fuente, Historia de las universidades (note 77), vol. 111, 198-9; Peset and Peset,
La universidad espanola (note 77), 51.

306

Admission

decline precipitously. At Coimbra, for instance, registrations increased,
reaching the annual average of 1,877 for the five-year period of 1679-
84 (although the rate of growth was very uneven for the century taken
as a whole). The course with the highest attendance was that of canon
law, followed by civil law, medicine and theology, and this remained
true from 1573 to 1772, during which time it has been calculated that
students in canon law represented 74.77 per cent of the total as against
13.29 per cent registered for civil law, 6.87 per cent registered for medi-
cine and 5.07 per cent registered for theology.*’ In the eighteenth century
in — now Bourbon - Spain, attendances at the larger universities con-
tinued to fall. At Salamanca, numbers hovered around 2,000, at Alcala,
they barely topped 1,000 and at Valladolid they were lower still. In
the smaller universities, however, the situation was sometimes slightly
different. At Granada, there were only about 50 students in the 1750s,
but over 600 by the end of the century.*” Portugal’s Coimbra continued
to be something of a special case; just as the seventeenth century had
showed no sign of falling rolls, so the eighteenth century brought a last
great expansion of the student population to a peak in 1764-9, with an
annual average estimated by some to be even higher than 4,000 students,
the majority of whom eventually graduated in canon law.*

As far as Italy is concerned, circumstances seem to have produced
significant variations from place to place. Gaps in the registers of the
Italian universities for this period rule out the possibility of obtaining
exhaustive and accurate figures, but a few approximate estimates suggest
that, for some universities, the sixteenth century was a period of signifi-
cant expansion whereas, for others, it was a time of evident decline.
Thus the University of Naples, after the stasis of the fifteenth century,
expanded fairly rapidly, with registrations being numbered in their thou-
sands; registrations at the University of Padua climbed steadily until
there were over 1,000;*4 at the Universities of Bologna and Pisa, the
number of students hovered around the 600-700 mark towards the end
of the century;*° average annual attendance during the years from 1543
to 1555 at the University of Ferrara was around 513.*° Even at the

8
82

De Vasconcelos, ‘Estatistica das matriculas’ (note 78), 118ff.

M. Peset and M. F. Mancebo, ‘La poblaciOn universitaria de Espafia en el siglo XVIII’,
in M. Peset and M. F. Mancebo, El cientifico espanol ante su historia. La cienca en
Espatia entre 1750-1850. I Congreso de la Sociedad Espanola de Historia de las Cien-
cias (Madrid, 1980), 301-18; republished in French as ‘La population des universités
espagnoles au XVIlIle siécle’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 187-204.

De Vasconcelos, ‘Estatistica das matriculas’ (note 78), 119 and 121.

Kagan, ‘Universita’ (note 55).

Kagan, ‘Universita’ (note 55), 284-5; on Pisa, see E. Mango Tomei, Gli studenti
dell’Universita di Pisa sotto il regime granducale (Pisa, 1976), 119-20.

C. Pinghini, ‘La popolazione studentesca dell’Universita di Ferrara dalle origini ai nostri
tempi’, Metron, 7 (1927), 120-39.

83
84
85

307

Maria Rosa di Simone

University of Pavia, enrolments numbered around soo. Other universit-
ies, though, such as those of Perugia and of Siena (which, in the fifteenth
century, had undergone a significant expansion) had a progressively
lower student intake.*’ The history of this size of student body in the
Italian universities is also related, in some instances, to special events
within (and to the general circumstances of) the various states into which
the peninsula was then divided. In particular, the university policies of
Italian governments were not always conducive to maintaining the
intake of foreigners at traditionally high levels. Italy too was deeply
affected by events elsewhere in Europe. Thus, in the seventeenth century
numbers declined, as elsewhere. The University of Padua often had fewer
than a thousand students on its rolls,** Bologna was reduced to an aver-
age of 400, and Ferrara did not even have 100 students to its name,”
and the University of Siena rarely achieved this figure either.”’ In the
eighteenth century registration figures were, as a rule, even lower. At
Padua, they often fell below 300; at Ferrara and at Pisa they usually
did not number over 100;”* at Bologna they hovered around the 200
mark;”* at Rome, early in the century, the university was virtually
deserted and, even after the reform of Pope Benedict XIV (1748), there
were invariably fewer than 300 students;” at Pavia, the annual average
for a large part of the period under consideration was 150,”° and at
Modena the maximum, 315 students, was reached in 1785.” Although
there were cases, as, for example, at Ferrara and Pavia, where the
reforms put into effect around the end of the eighteenth century led to
something of a revival, the University of Turin is the only exception to
the general decadence of the first half of the century. Its restructuring in
the 1720s marked a turning-point, rousing it from the extreme deca-
dence into which it had fallen during the previous century, and the

87 Kagan, ‘Universita’ (note 55), 285-6.

88M. Saibante, C. Vivarini and S. Voghera, ‘Gli studenti dell’Universita di Padova dalla

fine del ’500 ai nostri giorni (studio statistico)’, Metron, 4 (1924-5), 163-223, esp. 177.

Simeoni, Universita di Bologna (note 33), 88-9.

Pinghini, ‘La popolazione’ (note 86), 132.

Kagan, ‘Universita’ (note 55), 296.

Saibante, ‘Gli studenti’ (note 88), 177-8.

Pinghini, ‘La popolazione’ (note 86), 132; N. Carranza, Monsignor Gaspare Cerati

provveditore all’Universita di Pisa nel Settecento delle riforme (Pisa, 1974), 366-7.

*4 Simeoni, Universita di Bologna (note 33), 101-2.

*> M.R. Di Simone, La ‘Sapienza’ romana nel Settecento. Organizzazione universitaria e
insegnamento del diritto (Rome, 1980), 295.

76 B. Peroni, ‘La riforma dell’Universita di Pavia nel Settecento’, in Contributi alla storia
dell’Universita di Pavia (Pavia, 1925), 120.

9? G. C. Mor and P. di Pietro, Storia dell’Universita di Modena, vol. u (Florence, 1975),
535-6 and table, 543.

89
90
91
92
93

308

Admission

number of persons registered, amounting to as many as 901 in 1721,
rose to 2,000 in 1730.”

As was the case for Italy, serial data and in particular the enrolment
lists for France are too ffagmentary for us to reach an opinion on the
whole kingdom. The universities were numerous, the university network
was complex and in no way homogeneous. From the sixteenth to the
seventeenth century a large number of university institutions were
reclassified and this seriously complicated any study of the university
situation, particularly since royal legislation on several occasions, above
all at the turn of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, changed the
rules of the game.” It is only for Paris that we have sufficient figures for
the sixteenth century.

In the years between 1520 and 1550, ffom 1,500 to 1,750 young
people registered in the arts faculty of Paris each year. Scholars have
deduced from this that the total figure for students following such
courses would have been in the region of 10,000 or 11,000. Yet, in the
aftermath of the wars of religion, student numbers fell by half in the
course of some twenty years, and continued to fall until the end of the
century when they would seem to have been barely one-fifth of what
they were in the early years of the century.'”

This spectacular drop in the number of arts students in Paris during
the second half of the sixteenth century was to a large extent due to the
transfer of trivium teaching to the fully independent colleges outside the
university. Thenceforth, the university, which became a higher education
institution in the fullest sense of the word, received the function of con-
cluding the trivium teaching by a master of arts degree which was obliga-
tory for theology studies and, later, for other faculties too. Hence the
equally spectacular increase in the number of master of arts degrees in
Paris towards the middle of the seventeenth century, exceeding, with
over 250 degrees a year in 1680, the level of the fifteenth century, which
was high enough. These degrees, however, had thenceforth a totally dif-
ferent significance. Principally marking the conclusion of an arts training
up to the sixteenth century, the master’s degree became no more than
an entrance requirement for the higher faculties two centuries later.’

°8 G. Quazza, Le riforme in Piemonte nella prima meta del Settecento, vol. 1 (Modena,
1957), 396, 420; D. Balani, D. Carpanetto and F. Turletti, ‘La popolazione studentesca
dell’Universita di Torino nel Settecento’, Bollettino storico—bibliografico subalpino, 76
(1978), off.

” Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants’ (note 56), 27-32.

100 L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Patterns of Attendance at the University of Paris, 1400-1800’, The
Historical Journal, 21 (1978), 503-16, esp. 511-12; revised version under the same
title in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 487-526.

101 See chapter 9, pp. 359-60, 365, 381 on this subject.

409

Maria Rosa di Simone

Indeed, in the second half of the century, registrations in theology
increased considerably and those in jurisprudence climbed rapidly in the
1680s. The fact was that, while the rivalry of the colleges run by the
religious orders had a profound effect upon attendances at the humani-
ties faculties, the need to prepare ideological weapons on behalf of the
Counter-Reformation, and to train civil servants for an expanding state
apparatus, lay at the root of the development of the other faculties.'°*

In eighteenth-century France, the situation was less troubled than in
the preceding century. As early as 1700, the reorganization of the law
faculty in Paris had given rise to a rapid increase in the number of stud-
ents, of whom there were over 600 in the 1680s, an attendance three
times larger than that recorded for the previous decade.'™ This faculty
continued to enjoy high levels of recruitment in the course of the eight-
eenth century, reaching 800 students at its height, whereas the arts facul-
ties themselves hovered around the 100 mark in the second half of the
century, both figures far exceeding those recorded for the earlier period.
If the development of the faculty of law in the capital undermined the
Universities of Bourges and Orléans, which suffered a drop in the
number of students and in cultural level, the majority of the other uni-
versities saw a substantial increase in registrations in jurisprudence
which, considered as a whole, exceeded 2,000 per annum at the begin-
ning of the century and around 3,000 in the 1770s.’

Obviously, all these figures only have any meaning when compared to
overall population figures and we must admit that in most cases we
know very little about these before the great censuses which inaugurated
the revolutionary era. It is, however, possible to give some general idea
of sizes and to ask a few general questions (see table 7.1). We could ask,
for example, whether the growth observed in southern Europe in the
eighteenth century was not to a very large extent the simple effect of an
increase in the birth-rate; Italy, France and the Iberian countries in all
likelihood had a 20 to 30 per cent increase in their population during
the century. But it was the same for England and for Germany. Now,
the student and graduate rates that can be calculated, and hence their
relationship to population figures in these countries, were declining in
all cases. In those countries where a series of rates could not be calcu-
lated (France, Spain), the rates found for the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury are remarkably similar to those of the other western European
countries. In Castile and in Portugal, the excessive importance of the
canon law faculty distorted the picture; it alone accounted for four-fifths

10 Brockliss, ‘Patterns of Attendance’ (note 100), 512¢f.

3 Brockliss, ‘Patterns of Attendance’ (note 100), 514ff.

104 R. L. Kagan, ‘Law Students and Legal Careers in Eighteenth-Century France’, Past
and Present, 68 (1975), 62-3; Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants’ (note 56), passim.

310

Admission

Table 7.1’ Student (a) and graduate (b) rates for several countries or
regions in Europe as rounded-off percentages of the age group'’”

Approximate dates

Country/Region 1575 1600 1625 1650 1675 1700 1725 1750 1775 1800

England (a) 29 2.4 1.5
Oxford (a) ne. Oo: “Ta TG: 7636 0.3 0.2
Oxford (b) 0.32? 0.4 0.6 G4 “O34 0.2 O.1
German Empire (a) 1.2 1.3 1.4 ~~ 2.8 2.2 i? T3. D9
Dutch Republic (a) 1.8 1.5 12
Dutch Republic (b) O2 O4 O86 “OF “OF 06. “O17 “06 0:6
Overyssel (a) 3.6 I.6 1.2 1.1 1.0
Overyssel (b) 1.3 0.8 07 08 09
Poland (a) 0.3 0.3 0.2 Ow
Poland (b) <o.I
Coimbra (a) 1.4 1.8 2.4 43 oo)
Castile (a) 2.4 22
Spain (a) 152
France (a) 1.2
Finland (a) 0.9

‘Table by W. Frijhoff

of enrolment in eighteenth-century Portugal. It should be noted, how-
ever, that the country’s and the European average coincided as soon as
this faculty had disappeared. Everywhere else higher education students
represented 1 per cent or almost 1 per cent of their age group; two-thirds
of them took degrees, which meant that studies and degrees were rela-
tively closely linked. This was not always the case. In fact the sets of
figures have different trajectories: whilst the enrolment curve falls after
the increase of the first half of the seventeenth century, available figures
suggest a rise on the degree curve.'”°

THE SOCIAL ORIGIN OF STUDENTS

Changing registration numbers throw light on the perceived and real
functions of European universities from the sixteenth century to the

05 The table was compiled by W. Frijhoff on the basis of the following sources: Stone,
‘The Size and Composition’ (note 60), 95, 103; Frijhoff, ‘Surplus ou déficit’ (note 62),
212; Frijhoff, Gradués, 209; W. Frijhoff, ‘Université et marché de l’emploi dans la
République des Provinces—Unies’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 220; Chartier and
Revel, ‘Université et société’ (note 51). And, in addition, Frijhoff’s own computations
from A. De Vasconcelos, Escritos varios (note 78), vol. 1, 120-4 [Coimbra]; Kaniewska,
‘La conjoncture étudiante’ (note 53), vol. 1, 127; Pelorson, Les ‘Letrados’ (note 54), 101;
Rodriguez, La Universidad salmantina (note 5 4), vol. 111, 72-3, 178; Peset, ‘La poblaci6n’
(note 82), 190; Klinge, Kuningliga Akademien. Population figures according to C.
McEvedy and R. Jones, Atlas of World Population History (Harmondsworth, 1978).

106 See chapter 9, p. 378, for a more detailed table of graduate rates.

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Maria Rosa di Simone

eighteenth century, and enquiry into the social origins of those registered
has also begun to provide a more precise picture of what institutions of
higher education were actually doing in that period. The medieval func-
tion of the universities had already begun to change in certain crucial
respects as early as the fifteenth century. The ancient studia had drawn
to them a very broad social range, although poor students tended to be
preponderant in northern Europe, while students who were rich and
who belonged to the nobility were more numerous in the south. The
Christian principle that teaching should be free had helped in the found-
ing of facilities for financial support, so as to reduce the expenses of the
needier students, who usually paid no taxes and were often lodged and
kept in appropriate foundations. Since the university milieu favoured a
very simple and frugal way of life, the general climate made it easier for
the less affluent to integrate, and they could rise, by means of study,
sufficiently high to become doctors themselves. Gradually, though, in
the course of the fifteenth century, the poor found themselves being’
excluded, especially by the faculties of law and medicine, and they were
increasingly likely to enrol for shorter and less prestigious courses of
study. The expense of acquiring a doctorate rose massively. At the same
time academic life became more aristocratic, and there emerged a more
pronounced taste for luxury, for a comfortable existence, for ceremonies
such as the nobility performed, for refined modes of dress and previously
unknown formalities. Posts at the colleges were now often assigned to
rich persons, with their own servants and tutors, and nobles in the uni-
versities were given special treatment.'””

These first intimations of a shift towards a more aristocratic kind of
institution were followed, in the course of the sixteenth century, by
further developments of the same kind.'** Before 1500, very few English
nobles attended university, because their education, being based above
all on music, dancing, the art of making pleasing conversation and
moving gracefully, did not require knowledge of academic disciplines.
Yet as early as the reign of Henry VIII, many titled persons began to
register with the universities, and by Elizabeth’s time, most members of
the elite were graduates. In the Parliament of 1563, only sixty-seven
members had attended university, whereas, in that of 1584, the number
had doubled, and the 1593 Parliament contained as many as 161 gradu-
ates. In the second half of the sixteenth century, for every five persons
whose families were commoners there were three registered at both
Oxford or Cambridge as sons of gentlemen, and, at the beginning of the

17 See volume I, chapter 7, pp. 202-11.
108 On the thesis of the aristocratization of the universities see chapter 9, pp. 368-70.

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seventeenth century, there were five commoners to every six nobles.’

One can account for this massive influx of aristocrats both in terms
of the new humanist ideal of culture and intellectual refinement
(promoted by Thomas Elyot’s Boke Named the Governour and by the
English translation of Baldassare Castiglione’s I] cortegiano in
particular), and by the need increasingly felt by nobles to equip them-
selves for high state office by acquiring a more solid and specialized
training. Nevertheless, those who were described as ‘commoners’ sons’
were also significant in the growing number of registrations at Cam-
bridge and Oxford. These students came from modest families of labour-
ers, artisans and farmers, and they were drawn to the universities in the
hope that they might be ordained or become teachers in the grammar
schools which were expanding at an unprecedented rate during this
period. They often benefited from scholarships or from the support of
bishops or well-to-do laymen, who would then sometimes employ them
in their service. Not infrequently, such ‘poor scholars’ ran the servants’
mansions of their richer schoolfellows. Towards the end of the sixteenth
century, this social group accounted for over 50 per cent of registrations,
but its numbers were to fall perceptibly a few years later; by 1601 it
was down to 42 per cent.'’®

In pre-Reformation Germany, ecclesiastics enjoyed a high profile in
the universities, partly because the milieu reproduced many of the fea-
tures of the monasteries. In certain cases, a number of monastic tra-
ditions were perpetuated even after the break with the Catholic Church
(for example, the obligation of rectors to be celibate). In the Catholic
universities, registrations from among the ranks of the clergy did not
merely continue at a high level (as at Dillingen, where they continued
to constitute 11 per cent of the total in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries), but sometimes even increased (as at Freiburg, where 20-40
per cent of its student body were clerics (clerici) in the years between
1530 and 1540). In the Protestant universities, however, clerics disap-
peared, but large numbers of later ministers populated the theological
faculties."'’ The social origin of the students in the Holy Roman Empire
was similar to that recorded above for England. Before 1500, it was
relatively unusual for a member of the nobility to register, and he would
only do so if he had an ecclesiastical career in mind, whereas, in the
course of the century, his involvement in academic life would seem to

10? J. H. Hexter, ‘The Education of the Aristocracy in the Renaissance’, Journal of Modern
History, 22 (1950), I-20; Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge in Transition (note 18), 59ff.;
Stone, “The Educational Revolution’ (note 50), 41-80.

110 Stone, ‘The Size and Composition’ (note 60), 18ff. and table 2, 93.

™! Eulenburg, Die Frequenz (note 62), 65ff.

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Maria Rosa di Simone

have grown, even if it was not equally evident in all universities. Thus,
while Strasburg was the goal for numerous nobles from Lorraine and
France, Leipzig and Erfurt continued to be predominantly bourgeois in
composition; 14 per cent of the students at Dillingen were titled, and
Ingolstadt, the largest university in southern Germany, witnessed an
increase in the proportion of noble students from 4.5 per cent at the
beginning of the century to 17.5 per cent at the close, with the pro-
portion of persons from the church hierarchy falling from 25.8 per cent
to 8.4 per cent.''* In Germany, too, the nobility tended to win a more
privileged position within the student body as a whole, through formal
recognitions that, on the one hand, helped to consolidate their
supremacy as a class, threatened by the aspirations of the bourgeoisie
and, on the other hand, gave added lustre to the university by giving it a
higher social profile. Characteristically enough, members of the nobility
would disdain examination or academic qualification. Indeed, only a
tiny proportion of aristocrats deigned to graduate, secure in the knowl-
edge that the status they had enjoyed from birth rendered any other title
superfluous.'’?

In the Habsburg states, where the nobles were in competition with
the bourgeoisie — who were increasingly ousting the clergy from public
office and were either making it impossible for the ancient families to
pursue careers at all, or were turning the posts which they held into
empty ciphers — noblemen sought in turn to consolidate their own pos-
ition by adequate training at the university, especially in jurisprudence.
Even if service as a page with a seigneur was still considered to be a
good way of learning how to move in more elevated circles, the attempt
was now made to link this courtly education with more literary and
linguistic instruction, as we learn from the decree issued by Ferdinand
I in 1537, in which the seigneurs were ordered to set up lectures in
various subjects for their pages.''* Nevertheless, the student body of the
University of Vienna continued to have an essentially bourgeois charac-
ter, because the nobles preferred to study abroad or elsewhere in Germ-
any. Bohemians and Moravians had a special preference for Altdorf,
Austrians favoured Dillingen and Ingolstadt, whereas the Hungarians
chose Ingolstadt and Heidelberg.’

12 Miiller, Universitat und Adel (note 68), 6off.

"3 Miiller, Universitat und Adel (note 68), 159ff.

"4 G. Heiss, ‘Bildungsverhalten des niederGsterreichischen Adels im gesellschaftlichen
Wandel: zum Bildungsgang im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert’, in G. Klingenstein and H.
Lutz (eds.), Spezialforschung und ‘Gesamtgeschichte’. Beispiele und Methodenfragen
zur Geschichte der frithen Neuzeit, Wiener Beitrage zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 8
(Vienna, 1981), 139ff., esp. 141ff.

"3S Kohler, ‘Bildung und Konfession’ (note 31), 64ff.

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Although the number of nobles was increasing, the majority of stud-
ents in the Holy Roman Empire were sons of civil servants and of mer-
chants. There was also a small number of poor persons who were
exempt from taxes and who were not infrequently driven to register,
simply to ensure their own survival through access to refectories and
scholarships. At Leipzig, until half-way through the sixteenth century,
students of this type accounted for around 9 per cent of the total,''® and
even at Vienna they were very probably quite numerous, as can be
gauged from, inter alia, the edicts issued to stop them from begging.'’”

In Spain, the upper nobility did not deign to register their sons at the
universities, but preferred to go on educating them at home by means
of private tutors in Latin, in modern languages and in the martial and
chivalric arts, so that they might pursue the ideal of the gentleman, who
was meant to be educated and literate, but, above all, adept in military
matters. In an attempt to persuade the great families of Spain to abandon
this tradition, Philip II founded a court academy in 1583. It offered the
possibility of study in many technical subjects of military interest, such
as architecture, artillery and hydraulics, but the initiative was not as
successful as had been hoped.''*® The sixteenth century did, however, see
a noteworthy increase in university participation by the lesser aristoc-
racy, which had a predilection for studies in jurisprudence, which
opened the way to a place in public administration or in the legal pro-
fession. While the poor found the high cost of living in the university
cities an insurmountable obstacle, and therefore had to make do with
secondary studies, the middle classes were represented above all by con-
tingents from the cities; in general, the majority of students came from
the richer regions of the north and centre. Only a small part of the
student body ever acquired academic titles. Indeed, it has been calculated
that, at the end of the sixteenth century, less than a third of those regis-
tered graduated; the others broke off their studies prematurely, often
because of economic difficulties."!”

The extraordinary expansion of the colleges also had its effect on the
social composition of student registrations at universities. Institutions
had been founded in the Middle Ages to provide shelter for needy stud-
ents, and to enable them to keep themselves while at university, but from
the sixteenth century such places proliferated and their role changed.
Their welfare functions were gradually eroded, so that well-to-do
alumni, who were in a position to pay for their board and lodging,
were increasingly given precedence. At the Jesuit colleges, for example,

"6 Eulenburg, Die Frequenz (note 62), 70.

"7 Gall, Alma Mater Rudolphina (note 65), 121.
"8 Kagan, Students and Society, 80ff., 226ff.

"? Kagan, Students and Society, 246.

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Maria Rosa di Simone

although instruction was free of charge and therefore also attracted the
sons of poor families, more pupils came from the middle or upper
classes, who were able to keep their boys for longer periods of time at
home while attending instruction or pay for the costs of room and
board. Generally speaking, the proliferation of colleges from the six-
teenth century onwards would seem to have helped to curb the regis-
tration of the less well-to-do at university. On the one hand, the medie-
val system of reserving the majority of places for the poor was being
replaced by one in which the majority paid their way; on the other, more
numerous grammar schools represented in many cases a valid alternative
to the university for anyone wishing to obtain a basic education without
having to pay the high costs of university life.

Such developments continued throughout the seventeenth century.
Scholars have observed that, generally speaking, the records suggest a
drop in the registration of the less well-to-do and the nobility and a
corresponding rise in that of the affluent and the bourgeoisie. If, as has
been pointed out, opportunities for the poor to study were somewhat
reduced after the Middle Ages, this tendency was further accentuated
during the seventeenth century, for various reasons. The rising costs of
academic life and the general economic crisis were two important fac-
tors, but, in addition, it was becoming increasingly hard to win scholar-
ships, since the rich were tending to monopolize them.

In England, the percentage of commoners (at Oxford or, Cambridge
or both), which, at the end of the sixteenth century, stood at 55 per
cent, had fallen in 1637-9 to 37 per cent and continued to drop through-
out the whole of the following century, until it had fallen as low as 1
per cent in 181o0.'*° Indeed, the competition of sons of ecclesiastics and
of the well-to-do, in a labour market that was now saturated with gradu-
ates, meant that the poor were discouraged from trying to find the funds
to pay for an education at university, where the taste for luxury and
refinement created an atmosphere ill-suited to them. Even in Germany,
academic dress was more and more modelled upon that of the nobility.
Professors and students even went so far as to don the clothes of aristo-
crats and knights, a practice in striking contrast to medieval tradition
which had survived throughout the sixteenth century and which had
decreed that they be dressed like ecclesiastics.'*! The reality of the situ-
ation was that the ideal of the perfect intellectual was gradually being
replaced by that of the perfect gentleman, a notion borrowed from
French culture, then beginning to exert a profound influence upon the
European elites. The model of the seriously trained person, committed

120 Stone, ‘The Size and Composition’ (note 60), 37ff. and table 2, 93.
1 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, 494ff. Cf. chapter 4, pp. 206-7.

316

Admission

to study and dedicated to knowledge, was increasingly being challenged
in this period by the image of the man of the world who combined the
gifts of a brilliant conversationalist, dancer and horseman with a super-
ficial humanist training in politics and law. Nevertheless, as university
life drew closer to the aristocratic view of things, nobles themselves were
less and less likely to attend universities which no longer seemed to
reflect the new requirements of a courtly and refined education.

In England, yearly registrations of the sons of peers, baronets and
knights fell from the estimated figure of 45 in the 1630s to 16 in 1661.”
In Germany, after the high percentages of registrations from among the
nobility recorded at the beginning of the seventeenth century, we find a
sharp drop during the Thirty Years War, and earlier levels were not
regained, even though the participation of the aristocracy was by no
means negligible, reaching 17.5 per cent of the student population in
Ingolstadt, 14.8 per cent in Heidelberg, 10.5 per cent in Altdorf and 9.5
per cent in Dillingen.’*°

At the time of the Thirty Years War, the German nobility tended to
recover the leading position in society which had been threatened by the
rise of the bourgeoisie. Likewise, in the field of education, it was tending
to re-establish the distance between itself and the other classes, becoming
the bearer of peculiar models propounded in exclusive institutions. The
ancient tradition of having the sons of great families study at home
under the supervision of private tutors was flourishing again, and at the
same time numerous upper schools specifically devoted to the nobility
(Ritterakademien) were being founded, in which, together with subjects
of use in high offices of state (modern languages, politics, the financial
sciences, law, history and heraldry), the chivalric arts (such as fencing,
dancing and horse-riding) were also taught. As early as 1589 a Colleg-
ium illustre for the exclusive use of the nobility had been founded at
Tiibingen, and in 1599 a comparable institution, the Collegium maurit-
anum of Kassel, was established. These institutions, however, really
began to proliferate in the German area in the aftermath of the Thirty
Years War.'** Analogous developments took place in France. In 1638,
Louis XIII conferred upon the College of Juilly, founded by the Ora-
torians, the title of Académie royale, granting it fiscal exemptions and
formal and jurisdictional privileges. His purpose was to create a school
exclusively for the sons of the nobility. The college was run as a board-
ing-school, the courses were easier and less weighty than those of the

122 Stone, ‘The Size and Composition’ (note 60), 78.

23, R. A. Miiller, ‘Aristokratisierung des Studiums? Bemerkungen zur Adelsfrequenz an
siiddeutschen Universitaten im 17. Jahrhundert’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 10
(1984), 31-46.

4 Conrads, Ritterakademien, and more especially 115-31 on Kassel.

at?

Maria Rosa di Simone

other colleges, and the masters were ever-present and clearly ran the
lives of their pupils. This initiative was much imitated in other parts of
the country.'*° In Spain, in 1629, Philip IV and the Count-Duke Olivares
helped to found a noble academy by the name of the Colegio Imperial
or Reales Estudios de San Isidro, whose concern was the training of the
first sons of the nobility, who very rarely registered at the universities.'°
The programme of studies was rich and varied, ranging from the military
sclences to economics, politics, mathematics and history, but the insti-
tution was not as successful as had been hoped, and registrations were
so few that the Council of Castile argued that its funding should be
suspended. The failure of this venture may in part be explained by the
Spanish aristocracy’s traditional attitude of disdain towards educational
institutions, but one should also bear in mind the fact that the college
was in the hands of the Jesuits, who were not well qualified to teach their
pupils military matters, and who were the target of a violent defamatory
campaign on the part of the universities. The colegios mayores were
meanwhile becoming increasingly elitist in character, and the regulations
proposed by their ancient founders were increasingly shelved, as prac-
tices were adopted which involved an ever more pronounced exclusion
of the lower classes. The criterion of poverty was wholly disregarded.
In the course of the seventeenth century, pupils tended for the most part
to be sons of university lecturers, of loyal servants or of important and
wealthy persons, and they in turn habitually went on to teach in the
universities or hold high posts in the bureaucracies, the Inquisition or the
church. A genuine ‘college-educated’ caste was thereby created, which
gathered into its own hands the key posts in university administration,
the university chairs and the scholarships, and which consequently
played a part in the declining seriousness of studies and of moral stan-
dards in academic life. Amongst other developments, one could note
that, in the interests of this power group, the number of scholarships
was increased from 141 to 170, and the original allocation was altered,
so that those in theology and medicine were cut drastically, while those
in civil and canon law were increased. The establishment, in 1646, of a
permanent group of colleges also failed to restore respect for the ancient
statutes. |?”

In Italy, most of the noble academies opened in the seventeenth cen-
tury were run by the Jesuits, who managed to attract large numbers of

5 R. Taton (ed.), Enseignement et diffusion des sciences en France au XVIIIe siécle,
Histoire de la Pensée, 9 (Paris, 1964; reprint Paris, 1986), 15ff., 67ff., 261ff..

126 Kagan, Students and Society, 38-9, 234.

'27 Kagan, Students and Society, 109-58; J. L. Abellan, Historia critica del pensamiento
espanol, vol. 11: Del Barocco a la IIlustracion (siglos XVII y XVIII) (Madrid, 1981),
5 81ff.

318

Admission

students, including members of foreign aristocracies, particularly from
Germany. The College of Nobles in Parma, founded in 1601, whose
curricula included many of the chivalric arts, recruited 40 per cent of
its pupils in the second half of the century from among the European
nobilities.'** In Bologna and Siena there was a sizeable number of nobles,
but there were fewer in Modena.’”? The social composition of the
German student body at the Italian universities also underwent some
changes, so that, as the century progressed, the proportion of upper
nobility increased and that of the petty nobility and bourgeoisie dimin-
ished. This phenomenon may be accounted for by the practice of the
educational journeys which the young nobles now undertook, no longer
so much to pursue a complete course of higher studies as rather to
extend the culture they had acquired in their homeland by means of
brief stays in university cities. Thus, in Siena, in 1600, the 11 representa-
tives of the upper nobility were matched by 149 of the other classes,
whereas, in 1700, the ratio had become 88 to 22.'°°

The social origins of students with the Society of Jesus, however, were
not homogeneous throughout Europe. If, in Italy, it was the upper strata
who patronized the Jesuit colleges, in Spain (if one excepts San Isidro,
which was bankrupt anyway), they were mainly frequented by the sons
of civil servants and by merchants.'*' In France, where Jesuit institutions
were expanding fast, with a total number of students of well over 5,000,
the situation was complex. In one or two colleges (Clermont, La Fléche)
the majority of students tended to come from the higher social strata,
but, taking the situation as a whole, the nobles made up 4-6 per cent
of the students with the Jesuits, whereas 80 per cent of students came
from the middle or lower ranks of the Third Estate.'* In the first half
of the century, indeed, there seemed to be a good balance between the
various classes, whereas, from 1654 to 1661, economic upheaval meant
that there was a drop in the number of registrations of workers and
labourers, although it picked up again towards the end of the century.
Alongside the Jesuit colleges, the Oratorians’ boarding-schools prolifer-

28 G. P. Brizzi, ‘Educare il principe, formare le élites: i Gesuiti e Ranuccio I Farnese’, in
G. P. Brizzi, A. D’Alessandro and A. Del Fante (eds.), Universita, principe, Gesuiti. La
politica farnesiana dell’istruzione a Parma e Piacenza (1545-1622) (Rome, 1980), 133-
211. See also chapter 10, pp. 432-3.

G. P. Brizzi, La formazione della classe dirigente nel Sei-Settecento. 1: ‘Seminaria nobili-
um’ nell’Italia centro-settentrionale (Bologna, 1976), 30ff.

Weigle (ed.), Matrikel Siena (note 36), 11.

Kagan, Students and Society, 97.

F. De Dainville, ‘Colléges et frequentation scolaire au XVIle siécle’, Population, 12
(1957), 467-94. See also E. Schalk, From Valor to Pedigree. Ideas of Nobility in France
in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Princeton, N.J., 1986), ch. 8 and G. Hup-
pert, Bourgeois et gentilshommes. La réussite sociale en France au XVle siécle (Paris,
1983), ch. 6, both on education.

129

130
13
132

—_=

419

Maria Rosa di Simone

ated in France. The Oratory was a congregation founded in 1611, which
devoted itself to the education of the petty bourgeoisie and the artisanal
and peasant elite, establishing itself in the small and medium-sized cities,
where there were no Jesuit schools.’ Considered overall, therefore, with
very few exceptions, the European universities saw a fall in aristocratic
registrations, which were meanwhile growing denser in the colleges. It
followed that, whereas universities had once constituted a place where
the social classes might approach each other and come into contact with
each other, in the seventeenth century there was again a growing tend-
ency for students to follow different trajectories depending upon their
social origin.

In the eighteenth century, the tendency already apparent to exclude
the less well-to-do classes continued to characterize academic life;
indeed, as far as social composition was concerned, the universities of
the Enlightenment would seem less open than those of the Renaissance.
They opened their doors at most to bourgeois and well-to-do elements,
whereas everywhere the poor seem to have had fewer opportunities for
study. Relevant enquiries show that scholarships in England and in
France were henceforth granted, in virtually every case, to the sons and
relatives of clerics, senior civil servants, university lecturers, and rich and
influential persons.'** Yet it was also in Piedmont-Savoy, in 1729, that
the Collegio delle Province was founded, to enable the young and deserv-
ing poor, after taking an entrance examination, to attend the university
free of charge, and follow special lectures in philosophy, the liberal arts
and theology, through which pupils could qualify to become teachers in
the lower schools. Places in this institution, originally 100, jumped to
174 around the middle of the century and, for the less well-to-do classes
of this small Italian state, represented an important means of access to
higher studies.'*’ This should be seen in the context of a general royal
policy of raising up the lower and middle classes against a feudal power
that was still very strong. It was one part of a response to the particular
situation of a country striving to assert absolutism. In the majority of
cases, however, newly created European educational institutions were
reverting to the nobility for their recruits, and thereby perpetuating
seventeenth-century tradition. The paedagogium, of Halle, which had
been reformed at the beginning of the century, apart from providing

33 P, Costabel, ‘L’oratoire de France et ses colléges’, in Taton (ed.), Enseignement (note
125); Chartier, Education en France, 175ff.
134 H. Chisick, ‘Bourses d’étude et mobilité sociale en France a la veille de la Révolution.
‘Bourses et boursiers du Collége Louis-le-Grand (1762-1789)’, Annales. Economies,
Sociétés, Civilisations, 30 (1975), 1562£f.; Stone, ‘The Size and Composition’ (note 60),
4off.
95 Quazza, Le riforme in Piemonte (note 98), vol. 1, 407; Balani, ‘La popolazione studen-
tesca’ (note 98), 36.

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premises for the Latin school for boys from the orphanage, was particu-
larly concerned with the organization of a boarding-school for the
nobles, most of whom were registered in the law faculty. It imposed its
pedagogic principles upon worldly as much as on religious ideals.’*°
Many similar institutions in the Germanic area took their inspiration
from the paedagogium, whereas in the universities the proportion of
titled persons continued to be low. At Wiirzburg, Tiibingen, Strasburg
and Jena, for example, this figure hovered around 5 per cent of the whole
student body; at Leipzig, Heidelberg and Halle it stood at 7 per cent,
and only at Gottingen did it exceed 13 per cent, or so scholarly research
suggests.'*’ Indeed, owing to the cultural prestige and the astute balance
that Gottingen established between modernity and tradition, it was the
only university with a strong and constant appeal for the German aristo-
cratic class, so that it almost became a fashion for highly placed families
to send their sons there.

In the Habsburg territories, the development of the Ritterakademien
was slower. In spite of the fact that, by the seventeenth century, the
colleges of Briinn (Brno) and Innsbruck were already specifically ori-
ented towards the education of the nobility and that, at the beginning
of the eighteenth century, a number of similar initiatives were launched,
it was only in 1746, with the founding of the Collegium Theresianum
at Vienna (which was in the charge of the Jesuits) and of the Savoyische
Ritterakademie, that a wider-ranging perspective and more substantial
resources were brought to bear. By the end of 1750, the Theresianum
had already opened its doors to 135 students, many of whom were from
the Italian states.'**

Poland also underwent an appreciable development in those of its edu-
cational institutions that were aimed at the nobility and, for the most
part through the initiative of the clergy, numerous academies were
founded, such as the one at Lunéville, the Collegium nobilium of the
Piarists at Warsaw, which was modelled on the Nazarene College at
Rome, the Academy of the Theatines at Warsaw, and the numerous
boarding-schools for nobles founded by the Jesuits in the main cities in
the country. In 1765, these were joined by the military school for the
nobility which King Stanislas Augustus had promoted. It was notable
for its wholly secular character and for the access it allowed to the sons
of the lesser, poor nobility. Sixty of the places in this school were funded
by the state, and twenty were reserved for paying students. As time
passed, the markedly military character of education imparted in this

6 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts, 567fE.

7 McClelland, State, Society and University, 46ff.

38 EF. Guglia, Das Theresianum in Wien. Vergangenheit und Gegenwart (Vienna, 1912),
16ff., 63-4.

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Maria Rosa di Simone

college was tempered somewhat, so that it became more like an ordinary
upper school, with specialization available in military engineering and
law.'°?

The problem of the education of the nobility in Spain, which was
never resolved, remained a thorny issue and, until 1714, the Bourbons
were still putting forward plans for the founding of special schools with
lectures in the chivalric arts, music and dancing. In 1725, Philip V
revived the ancient Colegio Imperial, under the new name of Seminario
Real de Nobles, an initiative which was no more successful than earlier
ones, and the sons of great families continued, by and large, to be edu-
cated privately, even if other boarding-schools for nobles were founded
by the Jesuits at Calatayud, Barcelona and Valencia.'*° On the other
hand, the number of religious students, especially of regulars, increased
greatly in the universities. While most of Europe was witnessing a certain
secularization of higher education, the universities of Spain, which had
originally been secular in character, were now experiencing a reverse
trend lasting until around the middle of the eighteenth century. When
this development was at its most extreme, clerics at Alcala and at Valla-
dolid accounted for 40 per cent of the whole student body.'*’ In Portu-
gal, the plan to set up a Colegio Real dos Nobres shows that there was
some response there to the demand expressed by a number of different
writers, for a change in the age-old aristocratic tradition of educating
young persons at home.'**

In Denmark, too, the authorities took an interest in the education of
the nobles in an attempt to find solutions for the education of their
state officials. Initiatives taken in this field, however, had no real success
because the authorities provided neither the dedication nor, above all,
the resources to ensure that the institutions that they had founded func-
tioned correctly (the academy for young nobles at Herlufsholm, the
academy of Sgro for nobles and commoners, both founded around 1600,
and the academy for nobles in Copenhagen, founded in 1690s).'*°

The other way to promote education among the nobility remained the
university. At Turin, for instance, the sovereign attempted — success-

139 §. Litak, ‘Wandlungen im polnischen Schulwesen im 18. Jahrhundert’, in F. Engel—
Janosi, G. Klingenstein and H. Lutz (eds.), Formen der europdischen Aufklarung.
Untersuchungen zur Situation von Christentum, Bildung und Wissenschaft im 18.
Jahrhundert, Wiener Beitrage zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 3 (Vienna, 1976), 96ff.

'49 See note 126.

4) Kagan, Students and Society, 186-90.

‘2 T. Braga, Historia da Universidade de Coimbra nas suas relacoes com a instruc¢ao
publica portuguesa, 4 vols, vol. mm. (Lisbon, 1892-1902), 349ff.; Brandao and Lopes
de Almeida, A Universidade de Coimbra (note 28), part 2, 68ff.

43 §. Bagge, ‘Nordic Students at Foreign Universities until 1660’, Scandinavian Journal of
History, 9 (1984), 27; L. Jespersen, ‘Rekrutteringen til rigsradet’, in K. J. V. Jespersen
(ed.), Rigsrdd, adel og administration 1570-1648 (Odense, 1980), 51ff.

Admission

fully — to involve noblemen in the university. In 1721, aristocrats num-
bered 120 out of a student body of 901 and their numbers rose in all
faculties during the second half of the century.'**

Towards the end of the eighteenth century, the problem of the edu-
cation of the nobility began to be tackled in a different way in those
areas of Europe in which the influence of the ideas of the Enlightenment
had been especially strong. In Austria, the administrative reformer
Joseph von Sonnenfels declared his opposition to academies reserved
for the aristocracy and to the imparting of different kinds of education
according to the class origin of the pupil. On many occasions he
exhorted the nobles to devote themselves to their studies, so as to behave
honourably in the offices which had come to them through birth. In
place of a form of education which exalted the customs and ways of life
peculiar to the aristocracy, Sonnenfels argued for instruction designed
to integrate the nobles into the state and assimilate them with other
classes. He emphasized how important it was for noblemen to study at
the university alongside the other subjects of the Empire, so as to
advance social solidarity and reinforce awareness of their common
responsibilities towards the public good.'* The measures adopted by
Joseph II seem to have been in harmony with Sonnenfels’s approach. In
1783, he abolished the two academies in Vienna (which had been united
into a single body in 1778), using their funds to finance scholarships for
pupils registered at the public schools, and he subjected the tutors of
the great families to a system of rigid controls, obliging them to sit the
same examinations as other teachers.'*° In Spain, on the other hand,
although the initiatives taken to draw the upper classes into the univer-
sity milieu did not prove very effective, ever harsher criticisms were made
of the exclusiveness of the colegios mayores, so that, after various
attempts at reform in the second half of the century, they were finally
suppressed in 1798.7’

The need to supervise the formation of the nobility as a class, and the
increasing tendency to channel it into public educational institutions, are
two developments which should be linked to the growth of the model
of the centralized state, where it was necessary to curb the independence
of centrifugal forces and to reclaim the potential strengths of the aristoc-

44 Balani, ‘La popolazione studentesca’ (note 98), 45 and 52¢f.

145 J. von Sonnenfels, ‘Das Bild des Adels. Zum Anfange des Studiums in der k.k. adelichen
Savoyschen Akademie’, in J. von Sonnenfels, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. vim (Vienna,
1786), 147ff.; J. von Sonnenfels, ‘Uber den Beweggrund der Verwendung. Vor dem
jungen Adel der Savoyschen Akademie im Jahre 1768’, in J. von Sonnenfels, Gesam-
melte Schriften, vol. vil (Vienna, 1786), 177ff. See also note 59.

46 P. B. Bernard, Joseph II (New York, 1968), 103.

147 J. E. Garcia Melero (ed.), Discurso critico—politico sobre el estado de literatura de
Espana y medios de mejorar las universidades y estudios del reino (Madrid, 1974).

423

Maria Rosa di Simone

racy for the new political context. In this perspective, the universities
were seen as important means for effecting a greater integration of social
classes, and for promoting within each country a culture which was
more uniform, and which did not reflect the specific interests of class
groupings, but which provided an ideal basis for the citizen’s loyalty to
the state.

So matured a lengthy process of development, lasting from the six-
teenth to the eighteenth century, which gradually changed the structures
and the role of the European universities. From being corporate and
independent bodies, the universities were transformed into public insti-
tutions serving to create a ruling class. If, on the one hand, in the place
of a fundamentally homogeneous culture of the medieval type, they were
called upon to diffuse a form of knowledge which varied according to
the requirements and ideologies of each country, on the other hand, they
aimed at the ever greater involvement of those strata of the population
on which the new, more national, states would rest. The universalist
function of the ancient medieval institutions disappeared, but the
increase in the number of registrations evident in some countries, as well
as widespread demands for broader forms of recruitment, and the inter-
est shown in such questions by writers and reformers, all suggest that
the European university was beginning to emerge from the profound
cultural and organizational crisis it had undergone in the early modern
period.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ajo Gonzalez de Rapariegos y Sainz de Zafiiga, C. M. Historia de las universi-
dades hispanicas. Origenes y desarrollo desde su aparicién a nuestros dias,
11 vols., Madrid, 1957-77.

Bowen, J. A History of Western Education, vol. 11: The Modern West — Europe
and the New World, London, 1981.

Braga, T. Histdéria de Universidade de Coimbra nas suas relacoes com a instruc-
¢ao publica portuguesa, 4 vols., Lisbon 1892-1902.

Chartier, R., Compére, M.-M. and Julia, D. L’Education en France du XVle au
XVIIle siécle, Paris, 1976.

Compére, M.-M. Du collége au lycée (1500-1850). Généalogie de l’enseigne-
ment secondaire francais, Paris, 1985.

Di Simone, M. R. ‘Per una storia delle universita europee: consistenza e composi-
zione del corpo studentesco dal Cinquecento al Settecento’, Clio, 12-13
(1986), 349-88.

Eulenburg, F. Die Frequenz der deutschen Universitaten von ihrer Griindung bis
zur Gegenwart, Abhandlungen der philologisch—historischen Klasse der
kénigl. sachsischen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, xxIv, 2 (Leipzig, 1904).

324

Admission

Frijhoff, W. ‘Surplus ou déficit? Hypothéses sur le nombre réel des étudiants en
Allemagne 4 l’€poque moderne (1576-1815)’, Francia, 7 (1979), 173-2183; a
revised version: ‘Grandeur des nombres et miséres des réalités: la courbe de
Franz Eulenburg et le débat sur le nombre d’intellectuels en Allemagne, 1576-
1815’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 23-63.

Frijhoff, W. La Société néerlandaise et ses gradués, 1575-1814. Une recherche
sérielle sur le statut des intellectuels a partir des registres universitaires,
Amsterdam/Maarssen, 1981.

Huppert, G. Bourgeois et gentilshommes. La réussite sociale en France au X Vle
siécle, Paris, 1983.

Julia, D., Revel, J. and Chartier, R. (eds.) Les Universités européennes du XVle
au XVIIIe siécle. Histoire sociale des populations étudiantes, 2 vols., Paris,
1986-9.

Kagan, R. L. Students and Society in Early Modern Spain, Baltimore, Md./
London, 1974.

Kearney, H. F. Scholars and Gentlemen: Universities and Society in Pre-
Industrial Britain, 1500-1700, London, 1970.

McClelland, C. E. State, Society and University in Germany 1700-1914, Cam-
bridge, 1980.

O’Day, R. Education and Society 1500-1800. The Social Foundations of Edu-
cation in Early Modern Britain, London/New York, 1982.

Overfield, J. ‘Nobles and Paupers at German Universities to 1600’, Societas, 4
(1978), 175-210.

Paulsen, F. Geschichte des gelehbrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und
Universitaten: vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart mit beson-
derer Riicksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, vol. 1, Leipzig, 1885; 3rd edn,
Leipzig/Berlin, 1919.

Peset, M. and Peset, J. L. La universidad espanola (siglos X VIII y XIX). Despo-
tismo ilustrado y revolucion liberal, Madrid, 1974.

Schalk, E. From Valor to Pedigree. Ideas of Nobility in France in the Sixteenth
and Seventeenth Centuries, Princeton, N. J., 1986.

Stone, L. (ed.) The University in Society, 2 vols., Princeton, N.J., 1974.

3#5§

CHAPTER 8

STUDENT EDUCATION,
STUDENT LIFE

RAINER A. MULLER

It is hard to generalize about European student life in the time between
Reformation and Revolution. National peculiarities and regional differ-
ences are difficult to understand, the relevant literature and sources are
vague and rudimentary or uneven.’ Only the most important aspects can
be outlined and attention focused on the main problems. We should try
to uncover what was normal and typical in academic life in the early
modern period rather than exceptions and abnormalities.

PROFESSIONALIZATION AND SECULARIZATION

In the early modern era public authority increasingly intervened in the
collegiate system, in the statutes and the subjects taught, and in pro-
grammes of study.” Universities were more and more intensively regu-
lated, visited and controlled. This intervention by the state, which was
more vigorous in Germany, Spain and northern and eastern Europe than
in Italy, England and France, was made possible by a cameralistic form
of administration and by a new conception of the state which saw the
universities basically as ‘factories’ for civil service and clerical recruits,
whose education was subject to the utilitarian norms of the respublica.
The social nature of the university thus had to change, bowing to the
demands of the financing administrative state and relinquishing its social
immunities.

The impact on the previously almost self-sufficient university of state
intervention and regulation inevitably interfered with social interests and
conditions: the influence was permanent. The first very important change

" See volume 1, chapter 7 and volume m, chapter 9 and the literature in the select

bibliography.
2 See chapter 3.

326

Student education, student life

was the secularization of the universities. Lay teachers were introduced
by means of the development of a mainly civil servant class of professors
no longer dependent on student fees but paid by means of endowments
and a fixed salary. The social symbiosis between master and scholar thus
essentially gave way to a relationship of superior and subordinate
between professor and student. The previous close connection and con-
tact between teacher and pupil typically became more distanced, more
formal and more hierarchic. Not even the English tutorial system really
altered this state of affairs because it was not the professors themselves
who were doing the actual teaching.

Admittedly, the relationship between masters and scholars in the
Middle Ages was not always harmonious, but both had regarded them-
selves as belonging to a corporation whose privileges and status they
each enjoyed. The old pattern of academic community life, such as was
common for example in the bursae and halls, became permeated with
social rituals that made the increasing distance between professor and
student very obvious. The professors came to be more or less the sole
representatives of the corporation, the co-operation of the students being
reduced to a minimum (though the nations at the Italian universities
kept certain of the principles of the medieval student university into the
early modern period).

The laicizing trend in the university, despite continued affirmation of
the clerical sphere, was also partly caused by a massive shift in the hier-
archy of the faculties. The previously dominant faculty of theology came
to be rivalled by the faculty of law, which had become much more
important for the state. Clerical training and theology still played a key
role within the early modern universities, but less than before about
1550. Of those faculties offering a professional training — not, therefore,
the faculty of arts, which was gradually changing because of the existent-
ence by this time of preparatory grammar schools, though it remained
essentially propaedeutic — the faculty of law developed a definite pre-
dominance, except in England, since state interest and the educational
aims of elites could best be realized through it.

In Spain, Germany, Italy and France jurisprudence came to be the
science of the elite. Its attraction for both aristocracy and bourgeoise,
its function in the training of civil servants for administration and law,
its importance for the public good, the bonum commune, were reflected
in high enrolments which permanently changed the social structure of
the university. Instead of the clerical manner and behaviour of the stud-
ents of philosophy or theology, those of the lay honnéte homme, or the
elegant studiosus, dominated the academic scene.

A second and no less important feature of secularization was that socio-
economic conditions forced upon students a new professionalization in

Rainer A. Miller

academic training.’ The length of study and study norms were increas-
ingly determined by the demands of the professions. Academic qualifi-
cations became more and more relevant in society. The needs of practice
influenced the course of studies (particularly in law and medicine), even
though studies were still in principle of a theoretical nature. Increasing
rivalry in the academic world made examinations more important for
entry to a profession and for a career. Thus the student in the early
modern period experienced considerably more restrictions than the
much less constrained medieval student. Study had to be more effective.
The graduation and examination systems became more intense, and the
period of study in general shorter. The ten to fifteen years of study of
the medieval period gave way to a span of five to eight years (depending
on the university).* For various reasons, particularly limitations inrposed
by a student’s country of origin, prohibition of studies abroad, economic
pressure and confessional opposition, European student life became less
international. The peregrinatio academica,’ especially of noblemen’s and
patricians’ sons, whose retinue quite often included pauperes and famuli,
was still to be found in early modern times. Universities such as Paris,
Leiden, Louvain, Salamanca, Bologna, Padua, Heidelberg, Vienna and
Cracow remained attractive but even their students were much less inter-
nationally mixed than in the late Middle Ages. The reputation of import-
ant faculties — jurisprudence in Bologna, medicine in Padua, theology in
Salamanca and philosophy in Paris — took German students to Bologna
or Leiden, some Polish students to Vienna, English students to Paris or
Toulouse, but student bodies were becoming more national and even
local, in terms of recruitment. In addition, the very number of European
universities was conducive to reducing international exchange. Not only
were there specialist national courses of study but the language barriers
had become greater, since Latin was no longer the sole teaching language
at all the universities or in all the faculties; national languages predomi-
nated in the faculties of law.

Academic life increasingly lost its special status within society. Other
social groups, the bourgeoisie and aristocracy, assimilated the aca-
demics, or else the academics bowed to a great extent either to the bour-

> See volume 1, chapter 8 and chapter 9; further: H.-W. Prahl, Sozialgeschichte des Hoch-
schulwesens (Munich, 1978) 98ff. and 142ff.; R. Graf von Westphalen, Akademisches
Privileg und demokratischer Staat. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der bildungspolitischen
Problematik des Laufbahnwesens in Deutschland (Stuttgart, 1979); L. Boehm, ‘Libertas
Scholastica und Negotium Scholare. Entstehung und Sozialprestige des akademischen
Standes im Mittelalter’, in Universitat und Gelebrtenstand, 15-61.

“ See chapter 9, pp. 359-62.

* See chapter ro on student mobility.

328

Student education, student life

geois humanistic or to the aristocratic baroque way of life.° In short, the
introverted closed spheres of the universitas opened to the norms of
society and had to give a new and different account of their existence.

TWO SYSTEMS OF STUDY: MODUS PARISIENSIS - MODUS BONONIENSIS

The basic mode of European student culture was largely dependent on
what the usual form of study was in the respective nation or university
region. There was a fundamental differentiation in the modus studendi
between, on the one hand, the so-called modus Parisiensis,’ i.e. more or
less closed boarding or college system, and the so-called modus Bononi-
ensis,® i.e. relatively free attendance at the university and board in private
quarters, on the other. Basically, the closed system of education domi-
nated in England (colleges), France: (colléges) and Spain (colegios
mayores), and the free-student form of study in Italy, Germany, northern
and eastern Europe. These two forms of study influenced student culture
and everyday academic life in different ways. This dual mesh cannot,
however, be spread unreservedly over all the European universities;
within both types of study there were mixed forms and forms where one
was superimposed on the other.

In those countries with a pronounced collegiate system, cultivating
more or less the tradition of the alma mater Parisiensis, college life was
obligatory though exceptions were made for the nobility and the stud-
ents of law. In England, most of the students lived in college during the
whole of their student life;? in France, there was a smaller number of
college students, mainly from the faculties of arts and theology;’° in
Spain, the colegios mayores had been created in the sixteenth century

© P. O. Kristeller, Humanismus und Renaissance, ed. E. Kessler, 2 vols. (Munich, 1974-
6); A. von Martin, Soziologie der Renaissance (Stuttgart, 1932).

On the modus Parisiensis see M.-M. Compére, ‘Les colléges de |’Université de Paris au
XVle siécle: structure institutionnelle et fonctions éducatives’, in I collegi universitari,
110; G. Codina Mir, Aux sources de la pédagogie des Jésuites. Le ‘modus Parisiensis’,
Bibliotheca Instituti Historici S.I., 28 (Rome, 1968), does not discuss the old Paris
organization of studies but rather the Jesuit modified version founded on the ratio stu-
diorum of 1599.

On the modus Bononiensis see S. D’Irsay, Histoire des universités francaises et étran-
geéres des origines a nos jours, vol. 1 (Paris, 1933), 75ff.; W. Steffen, Die studentische
Autonomie im mittelalterlichen Bologna (Berne, 1981), 127ff.

L. Stone, ‘The Educational Revolution in England 1560-1640’, Past and Present, 28
(1964), 41-80; Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen; R. O’Day, Education and Society
1500-1800. The Social Foundations of Education in Early Modern Britain (London,
1982).

Compére, ‘Les colléges de Paris’ (note 7); J. De Viguerie, ‘Les colléges en France’, in
G. Mialeret and J. Vial (eds.), Histoire mondiale de l’éducation, vol. 1 (Paris, 1981),
301-15.

‘©

329

Rainer A. Miller

for the poor students, but by the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries
they had become the domain of the rich and aristocratic."

At universities in Italy, Poland, Russia, Scandinavia and Germany it
was not necessary to live and learn together in college-like institutions.
Students in these countries, at least those of the higher faculties, lived in
private accommodation in the university towns and attended lectures
individually, although often under the supervision of an inspector or
preceptor. The collegiate system in these countries was more or less con-
fined to the teachers; at some universities, such as Prague, Cracow, Pavia
and the theological Academy of Kiev,'* there existed a few small collegia
for needy arts and theology students, similar to the seminaria and contu-
bernia at the German universities.’?

The Jesuits'* combined both forms of study in the network of collegia
and seminaria which they had built up throughout Catholic Europe for
grammar-school pupils and for arts and theology students. Hundreds of
Jesuit colleges with their own boarding and teaching facilities existed in
Spain, France, Italy, eastern Europe and southern Germany, but because
of the ratio studiorum of 1599 and their own programme of studies,
they were only of interest to students of philosophy and theology.’ Until
well into the eighteenth century a tenacious trace of the medieval mon-
astic tradition continued to exist in the Jesuit Order, its scholastic teach-
ing methods and its closed educational ideals.

Thus we can speak of two different social spheres in which universities
developed in early modern Europe. In college the daily needs of the stud-
ent, such as board and lodging or the timetable, were in the main met
by the institution. In the free system the student had to find board and
lodging for himself and to complete his course of studies on his own.
These differences in forms of study and life are also reflected in the daily
academic life and mentality of the students of the early modern period.

"' Kagan, Students and Society, 66, 92-109, 130-55; M. A. Febrero Lorenzo, La pedago-
gia de los colegios mayores a través de su legislaci6n en el siglo de oro (Madrid, 1960);
J. Garcia Mercadal, Estudiantes, sofistas y picaros (Madrid, 1934); A. M. Carabias
Torres, Colegios mayores: centros de poder, Historia de la Universidad, Acta Salman-
ticensia, 46, 3 vols. (Salamanca, 1986). See also chapter 7.

J. Wyrozumski, ‘Les colléges et les internats de |’Université Jagellonne aux XVe et XVIe
siécles’, in I collegi universitari, 131-42; M. Svato’ and J. Havranek, ‘University Col-
leges at Prague from the Fourteenth to the Eighteenth Centuries’, in I collegi universitari,
143-54; Z. I. Khizhnyak, Kievo-Mogylyanskaya Academiya (Kiev, 1988), 175.

R. C. Schwinges, ‘Sozialgeschichtliche Aspekte spatmittelalterlicher Studentenbursen in
Deutschland’, in J. Fried (ed.), Schulen und Studium im sozialen Wandel des hohen und
spdten Mittelalters (Sigmaringen, 1986), 527-64, with additional literature.

Hengst, Jesuiten; F. Charmot, La pedagogia de los Jesuitas, sus principios y su actuali-
dad (Madrid, 1952).

G. M. Pachtler (ed.), Ratio studiorum et institutiones scholasticae Societatis Jesu, Monu-
menta Germaniae Paedagogica, 2, 5, 9, 16, 4 vols. (Berlin, 1887-94).

39°

Student education, student life

Despite these variations and contrasts and despite national differences,
there were many similarities between European universities and their
systems of study. Not only the academic ‘social community’ expressed
in Latinity and the acceptance of academic grades, but also university
privileges and statutes, and academic work in the form of lectures, repet-
itiones and disputes, survived as international constants throughout
Europe. These university conventions, which had continued from the
Middle Ages into the early modern period, remained the rule, compared
to which national variants were only marginal. Teaching, examination
and graduation retained their basic medieval forms until the modern
period.

This integrative character of the European university system also
included to a great extent the everyday life of the student. In all countries
students had their own place in the social hierarchy, special status and
special customs. Despite all appearances of assimilation, and despite all
the standardizing aspirations of the state, the everyday culture of the
students remained in many respects autonomous and independent,
whether they belonged to colleges or were ‘free’ students. The typical
group behaviour of young academics, their student mentality in all its
variations, and their way of life meant that they did not always fit easily
into the societies of which they were a part.'®

ACADEMIC PRIVILEGES

Registration at the university, the faculty, the college or the nation,
according to the customs of the various countries, gave the student the
right to benefit from academic privileges passed down from the Middle
Ages: rights to study and graduate, to special academic jurisdiction, to
freedom from tax and duties; in short, membership of the privileged
academic body.'’

As members of the universitas both scholar and professor were subject
to a special jurisdiction. It could vary in different university towns, from
academic jurisdiction exclusively by the rector, chancellor or board of
professors to a mixed jurisdiction between university and community or
church (recorder, bishop, etc. ). Only seldom — in time, however, ever

© R. C. Schwinges, Deutsche Universitatsbesucher im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert. Studien
zur Sozialgeschichte des alten Reiches (Stuttgart, 1986), 2ff.; Prahl, Sozialgeschichte
(note 3).

” P. Kibre, Scholarly Privileges in the Middle Ages. The Rights, Privileges and Immunities
of Scholars and Universities at Bologna—Padua—Paris—Oxford, Mediaeval Academy of
America, 72 (Cambridge, Mass., 1961); A. Kluge, Die Universitats-Selbtsverwaltung.
Ihre Geschichte und gegenwartige Rechtsform (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1958); see also
H.-G. Herrlitz, Studium als Standesprivileg. Die Entstehung des Maturitatsproblems im
18. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1973). See also chapter 4, pp. 164-7.

331

Rainer A. Miiller

more frequently — were the members of the university, college or nation
subject to the ordinary public law courts. The communities and states
tried increasingly to curtail these privileges of immunity, but the matricu-
lated student in early modern times continued to a great extent to enjoy
a jurisdictio privilegiata, as did also the other members of the university,
such as the university chemist or librarian.”®

Tax privileges which had survived from the Middle Ages, and the
freedom of the student from military service, were also particularly
important. These libertates academiae, which often led to conflict with
unprivileged groups, raised the academic class above the ranks of the
other citizens, putting it more or less on an equal level with the aristoc-
racy and the clerics, who enjoyed similar privileges. In particular, the
freedom of the university and colleges from excise tax and various duties
simplified the provision of food and made studying cheaper. Often such
privileges influenced the choice of university. The duty-free import of
food, the freedom from the beer and wine tax, the business privileges of
the university chemist or bookseller, the prerogatives of the colleges and
seminars were a thorn in the flesh of the tradesmen and innkeepers of
the town, but illustrated the special role of the professors and students
in state and society.

Further privileges were connected with graduation from the univer-
sity.'? Not only professional qualifications, social prestige and a career
as a civil servant or cleric were gained with the licentiate, the baccalaur-
eate or the doctorate, but the academic was also integrated into the
social elite and enjoyed its privileges of precedence at public acts, pro-
cessions, festivities, at which academics were treated in the same way as
the aristocracy and their distinction from the normal citizens could be
seen. There were further special privileges of dress*® and of carrying
weapons.”' Both students and professors had an elevated status in the
feudal social hierarchy because of the privileges and amenities involved.

'8 F, Stein, Die akademische Gerichtsbarkeit in Deutschland (Leipzig, 1891); H. Maack,
Grundlagen des studentischen Disziplinarrechts (Freiburg, 1956); See further the litera-
ture mentioned in chapter 4, note 68.

W. Bleek, Von der Kameralausbildung zum Juristenprivileg. Studium, Priifung und Aus-
bildung der hoéheren Beamten des allgemeinen Verwaltungsdienstes in Deutschland im
18. und 19. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 1972); E. Horn, Die Disputationen und Promotionen
an den deutschen Universitaten (Leipzig, 1893); Klinge, Kuningliga Akademien, vol. 1,
382-416, 432-85. On graduation see chapter 9.

J. Dauvillier, ‘Origine et histoire des costumes universitaires francais’, Annales de la
faculté de droit de Toulouse, 6 (1958), 3-41; W. M. Hargreaves-Mawdsley, A History
of Academic Dress in Europe until the End of the Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 1963);
L. C. Eisenbart, Kleiderordnungen deutscher Stédte zwischen 1350 und 1750
(Gottingen, 1962).

For the wearing of weapons and duelling see F. Hielscher, ‘Zweikampf und Mensur’,
Einst und Jetzt, 11 (1966), 171-99.

—

532 ;

Student education, student life

The visible special rights and freedoms of university institutions and
their members corresponded to the rights of the colleges, nations and
universities to make their own statutes. These more or less autonomous
enclaves were subject to internal statutes regulating the curriculum,
stipulating the order of subjects and disciplines, setting the times for
study and examinations, determining the quality of the graduation,
ordering teaching and learning matters. All such things concerned
exclusively members of the institution. This libertas statuendi was, with
few exceptions, curtailed by state authorities during the sixteenth to
eighteenth centuries, thus reducing the status of university members by
the nineteenth century to that of ordinary citizens. Yet in spite of this
decline in academic privileges, they were still decisive constants in uni-
versity life generally and in everyday student culture.

THE COLLEGIATE SYSTEM

The colleges, developed in the late Middle Ages in France and England,
are one of the most characteristic elements of the European university.”
They developed from foundations, boards, groups of people with the
same interests (fraternities, guilds), or by the transformation of monastic
institutions. This form of communal life and study developed within the
university into institutions which admitted students who could live and
work for a variable period, either free of charge or in return for fees.
Having land, houses and revenue, the colleges could offer the students
board and lodging and were ‘home’ for their members (socii) or scholar-
ship students (bursarii). These colleges were modelled on the medieval
hospicia or halls in which fee-paying scholars could live near the
university.

The colleges, usually founded by the clergy but sometimes also by the
aristocracy, were in principle autonomous bodies, with their own stat-
utes and privileges. The buildings normally consisted of a main complex
of sleeping accommodation (single cells or a common dormitory) for the
students, a dining hall, a chapel and a library. These colleges, modelled
on monastic practice, offered the students relatively good living and
working conditions, even if rigidly disciplined. The internal structure
was in principle hierarchic, but the English colleges in particular were
more democratic, since the number of members (fellows) could be
increased by co-option, and the principal (warden, master, president,
etc.) was either elected or appointed. Extensive rights of participation
were widespread. In France these rights to self-administration remained

22 General introduction: J. Verger, ‘Collegi e universita tra medio evo ed eta moderna’,

in I collegi universitari, 1-12 and J. M. Fletcher, ‘The History of Academic Colleges.
Problems and Prospects’, in I collegi universitari, 13-22. See also chapters 4 and 7.

229

Rainer A. Miiller

less extensive; the church or other external authority had more control
and visitation rights.

The fourteenth century was the main period for founding colleges: 37
in Paris, 5 in Oxford, 7 in Cambridge, 8 in Toulouse, 11 in Italy and 2
in Spain. The few colleges in the German Empire continued to be
reserved for the masters. Fewer colleges were established in the fifteenth
century, but there were still 36 new colleges in France, 9 in England, 8
in Italy, 3 in Poland and 27 in the German Empire. Structural changes
ran in parallel with this quantitative expansion. Better economic con-
ditions (increased endowments and revenues, larger buildings, more
students) enabled the collegia to develop their own teaching facilities. In
addition to the repetitions and exercitia supervised by the seniores
(tutors), which were obligatory for the younger students, the colleges
now also held their own lectures. In the faculty of arts in particular,
these gradually replaced the university lectures, so that frequently the
faculty had only to hold examinations. By the sixteenth century the
demand in many countries for more colleges had abated and there were
only a few new ones, but the Jesuits in the Catholic countries actively
continued to found colleges. In the seventeenth century the Society main-
tained about 100 colleges and hostels each in Spain, France and
Germany.”°

The Colléges de la Sorbonne, d’Harcourt and de Navarre in Paris,
Merton, Corpus Christi and New College in Oxford, Peterhouse and St
John’s College in Cambridge and the Spanish College (Collegio di S.
Clemente di Spagna) in Bologna set the institutional standard for the late
Middle Ages and the early modern period. In the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries there were more famous new establishments, which came to
be models for further institutions — King’s College, Queen’s College and
Trinity College in Cambridge, All Souls, Magdalen and Christ Church
in Oxford and the Jesuit Collége des Trésoriers and Collége de Clermont
in Paris.”*

Further development within Europe of the institutional ideal and the
hostel-based educational principle of the collegiate system, however, was
not in any way uniform. In Germany, Italy, eastern Europe and the
Netherlands’ there was hardly any significant development; there the

*3 Codina Mir, Aux sources de la pédagogie (note 7); A. P. Farell, The Jesuit Code of
Liberal Education. Development and Scope of the Ratio Studiorum (Milwaukee, 1938);
see also notes 14 and 15.

4 L. Liard, L’Université de Paris (Paris, 1909); J. Verger, ‘Les universités a l’époque mo-
derne’, in Mialeret and Vial (eds.), Histoire mondiale (note 10), 247-72.

> Tt is impossible to list all the monographs on individual colleges. See the overviews in
the select bibliography of Di Fazio on Italy, Carabias Torres and Martin Hernandez
on Spain, Hammerstein and Miiller on Germany, Compére on France, Little on
Cambridge.

334

Student education, student life

seminaries and hostels as grant-giving institutes only partially catered
for the arts and theology students, since most of the students had private
quarters. In England, France and Spain, however, the colleges dominated
university life. But even here the development was not uniform. The
English college formed its own university-like centre; the French collége
came to be more like a school or pre-university institution; the Spanish
colegio remained basically student living quarters without its own teach-
ing facilities. The Jesuit colleges represented a mixed form, combining
the grammar school and the study of philosophy or theology in both
boarding and free systems.

During the late Middle Ages the English universities developed into a
collection of colleges, i.e. the individual colleges were really small sec-
tions of the university as a whole. The buildings normally included the
dormitoria for fellows and students (socit), individual studies (camerae)
and a heatable hall (aula), where meals were served collectively. There
was always a church or a chapel, in which on certain days college mem-
bers prayed for the soul of the founder. Naturally there was also a house-
keeping wing with kitchen and laundry.

Daily life in college was strictly controlled. Disciplinary regulations
were severe and scarcely differed in the early modern period from the
medieval rules. Latin was spoken in the college; studies were interspersed
with devotional lessons, even during communal meals. Rules about
wearing a gown differed from college to college. Absence was strictly
limited, teaching was regulated by the clock. Lessons which had orig-
inally served to recapitulate and amplify the university lectures changed
during the late Middle Ages and even more so in the sixteenth century;
lectures were gradually transferred from the university to the college.
The students now learned in small groups in college; the university
retained responsibility for examinations and graduations. A specifically
English aspect appeared in the second half of the sixteenth century — the
tutorial system. Every student was appointed a tutor who supervised and
controlled his studies and way of life. This one-to-one relationship is
peculiar to the English college and university system and was not prac-
tised so intensively in any other country. The tutor, who had already
passed his examinations, supported the young student in all academic
and other problems and prepared him for the baccalaureate. He made
sure that his student went to lectures, repeated the contents with him,
gave him written work and did the exercitiae with him. As academic
supervisor he was also responsible for the morals and the finances of his
pupil. The quality of education and study was thus directly dependent
on the capabilities of the tutor. Not all fellows were tutors.

The English universities had some charitable features and offered poor
students an opportunity to study, but most college students had to pay

335

Rainer A. Miiller

substantial fees. The furniture in the individual studies consisted of a
simple bed, a desk and chair and a chest for clothing and a few books.
These rooms were not heated and there were few candles. Sanitary and
hygienic facilities were not always of the best. The quality of the meals
was one manifestation of the difference in comfort and standard of the
various colleges. One can, however, assume that there was bread and
drink (beer/wine) ad libitum, and two regular daily meals were served
in every college.

Several colleges had annexed to them the so-called halls (aulae) which
were supervised by a principalis and which offered the undergraduates
board and lodging. Each of the rooms in such a hospitium was furnished
with a bed and a chest; anything else had to be rented.

Even if regional criteria were less important for enrolment at the
English colleges, regional loyalties still existed. The student body in the
colleges included members from the whole spectrum of society. Mean-
while the colleges in the main specialized in theology, philosophy and
philology. Jurisprudence was taught in the Inns of Court at London,
which also had a collegiate character.

The English universities and colleges in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries concentrated on the training of clergy; the monastic character
of these institutions therefore corresponded completely with the teaching
aims. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, however, the edu-
cation of the non-clergy, especially of the aristocracy expanded.

The French colleges were considerably more closely controlled by uni-
versity or church bodies than the English. The principals were normally
appointed, while visitors inspected management and discipline at regular
intervals (as was also the case with colleges in England). Colleges had
been established in the Middle Ages mainly for poor scholars — usually
in philosophy or theology — but they changed their character in the early
modern period in so far as they offered board and training not only to
the so-called boursiers but also to more fee-paying pensionnaires.

During the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the attraction of the
French colléges grew to such an extent that, by the beginning of the
modern period, nearly all philosophy and theology students were accom-
modated; indeed, in the mid-sixteenth century the government pro-
hibited private board. The so-called martinets or martinetae, who lived
in private quarters, were obliged to seek admittance to one of the col-
léges, since the government considered these the best guarantee of edu-
cation and training. The authorities were particularly interested in elimi-
nating the hospices and pensions which were largely outside their
control.

The social conglomeration of poor scholars and rich ‘free’ students at
the French colleges in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries brought

336

Student education, student life

together two divergent practices of the university system: on the one
hand the traditional boarding-school education for scholarship holders,
and independent lodgings in hospices for bourgeois and noble students
from wealthier families on the other. Only students of law and medicine
were allowed to take up private quarters.

Parallel to this development, and in connection with their numerical
and material expansion, the French colleges increasingly took over
teaching commitments. Lectures in philosophy and theology particu-
larly, but also in other subjects, were given outside the university itself
so that its responsibilities were reduced to examinations, dissertations
and academic ceremonies. The college’s courses of studies in medicine
and law were also open to external students. There was a difference
between the colléges de plein exercise (collegia magna), which taught
philosophical and theological subjects to a high level, and the collegia
parva, which were more like schools in character.

The French university between the Reformation and the Revolution
was therefore similar to the English one, consisting of a conglomeration
of various colleges, in which masters and scholars lived and worked
together. The French colleges tended, however, to teach basic school
knowledge, whereas the university itself, which was supposed to teach
professional knowledge, was in the critical situation of being hardly able
to cope. Contemporaries frequently condemned the abuses within the
French university system — the low quality of instruction in the higher
faculties, the selling of academic grades, etc.

The cloistral boarding education of the French institutes hardly devi-
ated from the educational fashion of the time: the strict disciplinarity,
the authoritative teaching, the uninterrupted daily studies and communal
life were the rule. Isolation from the social surroundings by means of
prohibiting absence and by clothing regulations, in order to attain the
greatest possible educational efficiency, remained the educational credo
until well into the eighteenth century. During the age of Enlightenment,
with its different educational ideas, the colléges were vehemently critic-
ized for their pseudo-clerical character and they were eventually dis-
banded during the Revolution.

The majority of Spanish students between 1500 and 1650 lived in
private quarters, attending the university from a city base. Yet a not
insignificant number of scholars lived in the colegios mayores and men-
ores, of which there were some in nearly every university city.*° Salam-
anca with twenty-eight and Alcala with about fifteen were the main
centres of these institutions, which were modelled on Bologna’s Spanish

26 See note 11 and A. Galino and J. Ruiz Berrio, ‘L’éducation en Espagne et en Amérique
latine’, in Mialeret and Vial (eds.), Histoire mondiale (note 10), 123ff.

Do?

Rainer A. Miiller

College (established in 1367). The colegios mayores were reserved for
graduates, the bachilleres; younger students lived in the colegios menores
or, from the end of the sixteenth century, one of the numerous Jesuit
colleges.

At no time did the colegios mayores fulfil the same function as the
English colleges, although the internal structure — autonomy, election of
the principal, co-optation etc. - was comparable in certain important
aspects. Nor did they offer the teaching of university or pre-university
knowledge, as did the French colleges, but were semi-autonomous hos-
tels with strict rules of discipline and study, though without their own
lectures. Their teaching practice consisted solely of repetition and exer-
cises, not in systematic and individual teaching. The college students
attended their lectures at the university, sat their examinations there and
received their academic grades in the alma mater.”’

The daily life of the Spanish student, if he was member of a colegio,
ran its course mainly within the framework of strict regulations pre-
scribed by the head of the establishment. Intensive religious exercises
and concentrated study characterized the college day. Criteria for
admission into the college demanded purity of blood (no Jews, no
Islamic derivation), strict Catholicism and family respectability. The cri-
teria of poverty and need, traditionally applied by these colleges, were
completely ignored from the seventeenth century. Initially, the colleges,
which usually received their wealth from founders within the church,
served as charitable institutions for competent but poor students; foun-
ders often prescribed a certain regional background for applicants. Some
were reserved for the higher ranks of society. The nobility increasingly
assumed control over the colegios mayores, the members of which were
now caballeros aiming at a civil service career (that of a letrado). Schol-
arship places were given to the nobles, who with these becas (college
places) ensured their livelihood and study. The selective principle of
regional and local origin which had been common in the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries was superseded by the bando system — factions and
families dictating who was to be admitted into college, often against
the express wishes of the founder. Thus the Spanish collegiate system
degenerated in the eighteenth century, becoming feudalized and inaccess-
ible to the poor. Its charitable character disappeared, and free accommo-
dation gave way to high fees.

Everyday life in the Spanish colegios mayores was, in principle, poor
and without great comfort, even when later the nobility were the most
important beneficiaries. The necessities of life only were provided — food,
clothing and a place to sleep. The age of entrance was usually about 22

*? Kagan, Students and Society, 65. This book is also relevant for the following comments.

338

Student education, student life

years, and the length of residence averaged seven to nine years. The
change in the Spanish colleges is of great significance: the social, chari-
table and cloistral character of the collegiate system gave way to an
exclusive form of aristocratization, as a result of which there was a
change in mentality (behaviour, dress, etc.) and in university standards.

By about 1700 the ratio of ‘free’ students to college occupants had
changed remarkably, to a great extent because of the enormous activity
of the Jesuits, so that at least half of the students lived in colleges. Since
the number of students dropped in eighteenth-century Spain, while the
number of college places remained the same, the proportion of college
students rose to about two-thirds of the whole by the end of the century.

Apart from the numerous Jesuit colleges for students of philosophy
and theology and the schools and hostels linked to them, none of the
other European countries had such a collegiate system. Even the bursae,
in which students could board and lodge under the supervision of the
Bursenmeister and which had previously existed in many forms in Germ-
any, Austria, Bohemia, Poland and the Netherlands, fell into disuse in
both Protestant and Catholic districts after the Reformation. The only
institutions that could correspond in any way to the collegiate system
were the seminaria and contubernia (houses of residence) for scholarship
students who normally studied philosophy and theology, while the
boarding-school-like paedagogia were mainly for grammar-school
pupils.*® The older students of law and medicine, who usually came from
the wealthier classes, tended to prefer more comfortable private quar-
ters. This explains why in Italy, too, there were so few student colleges.
But, in addition, the Italian colleges, founded to provide food and lodg-
ing for poor students, tended in the seventeenth century to become
boarding-schools for the well-to-do bourgeoisie and lesser noblemen
(collegi d’educazione). They were successful; in Bologna, eight colleges
(collegi per borsisti) were founded before 1500 and thirteen in the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries.”

THE ACADEMIC DAY

A typical day at the Sapienz in Heidelberg in 1585 began for the hostel
inmates at 5 o’clock in the morning with a chapter read from the Old
Testament and a psalm, followed by a prayer from the Heidelberg cat-
echism. A first period of revision of the material from the previous day

28 For example the four pedagogies in Louvain: E. De Maesschalck, ‘Foundation and Evo-
lution of Colleges at Louvain in the Late Middle Ages’, in I collegi universitari, 155-61.

2? G. P. Brizzi, ‘I collegi per borsisti e lo studio bolognese. Caratteri ed evoluzione di
un’istituzione educativo-assistenziale fra XIII e XVIII secolo’, Studi e memorie per la
storia dell’Universita di Bologna, NS 4 (1984), 9-51.

Bp oe,

Rainer A. Miiller

followed these religious exercises. At 6 o’clock the lessons proper began
at the university, for which the student had to leave the hostel. After
four hours of lectures there was lunch (prandium), which began with a
benedictio et consecratio mensae. The meal was accompanied by Bible
readings which were then explained by a fellow student or a master. It
goes without saying that lunch ended with a prayer.

The evening meal was held at about 5 p.m. and was conducted along
similar lines. Between these meals there was a short pause for recreation
and the rest of the afternoon was spent repeating and memorizing the
contents of the lectures. The early evening was spent in much the same
way. At 8 p.m. all the students came together again in the halls, and
after ending the day with religious songs, readings and prayer, they went
to bed. The lights in the hostel were probably extinguished at about 9
pee”

The day in an English college of the sixteenth or seventeenth century
was hardly any different. We can reconstruct a college day relatively
well from the notes made by a member of Corpus Christi College in
Cambridge:

There were three lectures daily: a 6 a.m. lecture of Aristotle’s Philosophy,
Aristotle’s Organon and Seton; a 12 o’clock lecture on Greek, with
covered constructions as shown in ‘Homer or Demosthenes or Hesiod or
Isocrates’ and grammar; and a 3 p.m. lecture of rhetoric, using ‘some part
of Tully’. This steady diet was supplemented by an early morning expo-
sition of a passage in Scripture on Wednesday and Fridays by one of the
fellows ‘in his order’, and by a number of regular exercises in the
afternoon.”’

The number of lectures and exercises alone shows the intensity of learn-
ing and study, but these were made even more effective by the control
and support of the tutor. This timetable and the disciplined ordering of
the day was interrupted only by meals, which were taken together with
fellow students and college masters.

The day in a seventeenth-century Parisian collége — and also in com-
parable colléges in Toulouse, Orléans or Bourges — ran as follows: on
workdays rising time was 6 a.m. and there was a first block of work,
the étude, before breakfast at 7.45 a.m. After breakfast came the morn-
ing lectures from 8.15 to 10.15 a.m., followed by mass. After mass the
students repeated the subject matter they had just heard and learned
some passages by heart. The meal at midday was accompanied by pious
readings and was followed by a short period of recreation. The after-

°° According to Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts.
°1 According to O’Day, Education and Society, 112-13.

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Student education, student life

noon’s lectures lasted from 2.30 p.m. to 4.30 p.m. in summer, and from
3.30 p.m. to 5 p.m. in winter. This second block of lectures finished
with the goiter and was followed by a further period of revision. The
students ate their evening meal at 8 p.m., ended it with collective prayer
and went to bed at 9 p.m. Wednesday afternoon was free, while the
marks and, if necessary, punishments were given on Saturday.”

The daily life described here shows that the day of a hostel or college
student was regulated in a quasi-monastic manner — not only concerning
the times for work and meals but also the programme of religious
devotions. The strict disciplinary rules, the exact and always identical
ordering of the day, the monastic teaching methods are also mentioned
in the account given by a former Jesuit pupil (ehemaligen Jesuiten-
zdgling) in the eighteenth century, who experienced life in a German
Jesuit college, but whose remarks can be regarded mutatis mutandis as
being valid also for the Spanish and Italian colleges.

The daily time for rising was programmed at 5 a.m. After we had spent
the time (from 5) until 7 o’clock with preparation for the following les-
sons, the sign was given for mass. After mass we were led into the dining
hall, where we came together with all the divisions. The prefect and the
sub-prefect sat supervising on two rostra opposite each other. The bell
gave the sign for prayer; after prayer was breakfast. This consisted of a
milk soup or another soup, called Miaffa, the composition of which has
remained a mystery to me... There was ample white bread. It was forbid-
den to talk during breakfast.

After breakfast there was a short break in the college’s yard, then the
scholars fetched their exercise and textbooks and went into the gym-
nasium or lyceum. There was then teaching and lectures until 10 o’clock.
‘There was recreation time from 1o until half past, from 11 until 12
o’clock there was private teaching in music, drawing or one of the
modern languages (French, Italian, English). Lunch was at 12 o’clock.
The food was good, excellent even on some festive occasions.’ Every
two students received half a litre of wine, though the young grammar
pupils were given only water. The midday meal was accompanied by
religious readings. After the meal came recreation time until 2 p.m., fol-
lowed by lectures and teaching until 4 p.m. After this period of lessons
everyone who was hungry was given a slice of white bread; fruit, choc-
olate and other such things, that the French especially loved, could be
bought to go with it. There was recreation time until 5 p.m., study time
until 7 p.m. and then the evening meal; in the individual halls of study

2 According to K. A. Schmidt, Geschichte der Erziehung, vol. tv (Stuttgart, 1902), I.

341

Rainer A. Miiller

there was then common evening prayer and conscience-searching; at 9
o’clock they went silently up to bed in the dormitories.*°

Although such a pattern of daily life was easy to follow for someone
in a Jesuit institution and was certainly different from that of a noble-
man living in private lodgings, the teaching programme of a university
itself imposed a strict framework on the day. The many surviving ordi-
nances on absence from lectures, laziness, ignorance, all show that the
daily life of the ‘free’ student in Italy, Poland or Germany was very
different from what one might expect.

In the first third of the eighteenth century a member of the Jesuit
Order drew up basic rules for those students not living in a hostel or
college:

The day’s programme for a young student™

He gets up at 5 o’clock in the morning; during the cold season he may
sleep at most until half past five. He dresses quickly and modestly, combs
his hair and washes his face and hands. Thereupon he says a pious morn-
ing prayer and dedicates and sacrifices to God by means of good intentions
the whole day’s work ahead. Then he studies until mass. Whenever he
hears the first call to mass he takes up without delay his school things,
i.e. books and writing equipment, and goes to the gymnasium where, in
the meantime, he repeats his lessons to himself in silence. He attends Holy
Mass most devotedly; in school afterwards he does his duty to the best
of his ability. After school, if at all possible, he will enter the church when
passing for short worship of the Host. At home he sits down to study
again, especially the perusal of the school composition and the correction
of mistakes therein. He then eats his lunch with decorum and moderation.
Following this he allows himself a short time of relaxation or executes a
small matter of business .. . For reasons of health it is advisable to abstain
from study for about an hour after a meal; but there should be no physi-
cally strenuous games. He spends the remaining time until the afternoon
lessons studying in silence. At the first call to school he again takes up his
school things, returns to the gymnasium and attentively takes part in all
the exercises. After school he calls in at the church once more. At home
he again concentrates on his studies, especially on finishing his written
homework. Thus he continues his studies until the evening meal, but with
a short break of about a quarter of an hour for mental ease which he
takes either immediately after school or later during his work. The house
father or boarding-house keeper should not set the time for the evening
meal before 6 o’clock. After which there must be about an hour of rec-
reation; afterwards it is good to go through another two or three times

33 Quoted from G. Weicker, Das Schulwesen der Jesuiten nach den Ordensgesetzen (Halle,

1863), 120-1.
G. Mertz, Die Padagogik der Jesuiten nach den Quellen von der dltesten bis in die
neueste Zeit (Heidelberg, 1898).

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Student education, student life

the exercises to be memorised for the next day. Some prayers should
follow this and bed-time is set at 8.30 to 9 o’clock.

Further directions and advice, in addition to these basic rules for a
programmed day, were given to the young student. In general the
working day was to last from 5 a.m. to 9 p.m. and, to begin with, study
was to concentrate on the lectures, written work and transcription; only
afterwards should come private reading of the classics, copying of
extracts and memorizing of phrases. Periods of study should not extend
for more than two hours, and short pauses should always be introduced.
The students were to speak Latin all the time, using the vernacular only
during times of ease and recreation. On principle they were to sleep in
their lodgings or at home.

Theoretically, the academic day offered the college or hostel student
hardly any leisure time, apart from a free afternoon on Sundays and
public holidays. The closely regulated day, the continuous control, the
strict discipline, the customs of the house and college statutes narrowed
down all freedom to such an extent that conflict and protest, alcoholic
excesses, noise and fighting came to be a way of letting off steam.*
Leisure possibilities in the early modern period were limited and varied
according to social class. Walks, visits to the public houses and all sorts
of games were the few conceivable and practicable diversions. The scho-
lar was surrounded by a mesh of statutes or was supervised by inspectors
and preceptors, whose demands meant continuous study. The intensive
examination system, control of the exercise books and numerous tests
built up enormous stress. The student was continually being urged to
‘labour’ in order to satisfy his parents’ desire for him to have an aca-
demic education and to justify their financial commitment. Penalties for
lack of application, examinations and tentamina, lecture attendance con-
trol, supervision by the college governers and professors are character-
istic of the academic day in the early modern period.

TEACHING FORMS AND TEACHING PRACTICE

Different as the structure of the university was in its national variants,
whether with or without a collegiate system, the form of the lessons
remained universal throughout Europe.”*® Just as the studium generale —
the universitas magistrorum et scholarium — was a product of the schol-
astic period, so also were university teaching techniques a result of the

°° Examples are given in the works of Bauer, Gladen, Klose, Krause, Reicke and Schultze
mentioned in the select bibliography.

36 Cf. the presentation in Paulsen, Geschichte des gelerhten Unterrichts; see also K. Riick-
brod, Universitat und Kollegium. Baugeschichte und Bautypen (Darmstadt, 1977).

343

Rainer A. Miiller

scholarly and scientific method of dialectic, i.e. the use of thesis and
antithesis. From this scholastic teaching practice developed the main
form of university teaching — the lecture (lectio, lectura, praelectio) and
the disputation (disputatio).

The lectio consisted of the master or professor reading a certain book
aloud, section by section, glossing, explaining and commenting on the
individual statements. From the late Middle Ages a distinction was made
between the morning lectures (lectiones ordinariae), containing the most
important and obligatory branches of study — e.g. Aristotle’s Organon
of the Corpus Juris Civilis - and the afternoon lectiones extraordinariae
in which less important books were read. The former were mainly
reserved for the ordinary professors, the latter for the extraordinary pro-
fessors without their own chair (sedes).

During the lecture the teacher took his place at the rostrum while the
scholars sat on benches, with or without a table, where they were
grouped according to social standing. The teacher read section by section
(titulus or puncta) and, even after printing had made it easier to obtain
books, it was still customary to dictate longer passages to the students
(pronunciare ad pennam). Despite certain criticism, dictation remained
common during lectures until well into the eighteenth century. It
remained a university convention that the professors read the lectures
and the students took notes. The length of the lectures - 90 or 45
minutes — originated in the monastic three-hour rhythm of the day
through halving or quartering the 180 minutes.

From the late Middle Ages, and certainly from the sixteenth century,
the course of lectures (forma) was set exactly, and the dates for reading
the individual books were exactly kept: if a professor did not finish his
material in the set time he was either punished or had to pay back a
part of his fees (collectae). This applied to both sorts of lectures, the
ordinary and the extraordinary. For the former, also called collegia pub-
lica or collegia ordinaria, it had been ordained that there should be no
rival lectures on the same subject.

These lectiones, held by the appointed professors (regentes) with their
own subjects and chairs, were supplemented by lectures without com-
mentaries, by masters or bachelors, often given privately. It quite fre-
quently happened that the professors with set salaries managed to avoid
their proper teaching obligations, preferring to offer more lucrative pri-
vate lessons. Basically, however, the regentes’ lessons had precedence
over those of the other university teachers. The lectiones ordinariae were
usually held between prime and tierce (between 6 and 9 a.m.), or, in the
seventeenth and eighteenth century, also until sext (12 o’clock), while
the lectiones extraordinariae were not allowed to start before nones, i.e.
not before 3 or 4 p.m. At some universities, however, the cursoriae were

344

Student education, student life

allowed to be held after prandium, i.e. after the midday meal. The uni-
versity lecture system gained in intelligibility with the printing and pin-
ning up of lecture particulars on the notice-board.

Other pedagogic forms were connected with the lectio, e.g. those of
the repetitio or resumptio (recapitulation), which were not usually held
in the university but in the colleges, or in the rooms of the preceptors and
inspectors. Generally speaking, the repetitio, memorizing, was a typical
element of the closed institutes which had developed within the province
of the university. It was usually the masters or bachelors, and in the
English colleges the tutors, who were responsible for this form of
teaching.

The second typical form of university instruction was the disputatio,
which reflected the scholastic dialectic discourse of pro et contra, or sic
et non. In response to a quaestio, a discussion with thesis and antithesis
was to lead to a synthesis, a solutio. This dialogue was held on certain
weekdays, at certain times in the academic year, and it was particularly
on holy and patrons’ days that the big disputationes quodlibeticae were
held. The debates were practice in rhetoric and logic as well as proof of
ability in the subject, and as such they remained a basic part of university
training. A student was seldom able to graduate without partaking in a
certain number of debates.°’

Until the mid-seventeenth century lectures and debates were always
held in Latin. Latin remained the university language until the end of
the eighteenth century and was regarded as an expression of true schol-
arship. In the mid-seventeenth century, however, tendencies arose to
justify the use of the national language, though they did not prevail
generally until the end of the eighteenth century.

BOARD AND LODGING

Student ‘everyday culture’ was and remained dependent on whether the
young academic lived in private quarters or found board and lodging in
a college or hostel.

In general it can be said that, except for the upper bourgeois classes
and nobility, student quarters in the early modern period, both in college
and in private hostels, were but meagrely equipped with a bed, a chest
(trunk/cupboard), a table and a chair. Here the student could put away
his equipment, his few books and his bedding. It was very seldom
comfortable and both college and private rooms had the same function
and similar furniture. Candles were sometimes supplied for lighting, but
usually the day ended with sunset — unless the student went to an inn.

37 Horn, Disputationen und Promotionen (note 19).

345

Rainer A. Miiller

The quarters were usually unheated, with heating in both colleges and
larger private hostels being restricted to the common room or the study-
dining hall.

The eating habits of the ‘free’ and the college students hardly differed
as far as the number of meals was concerned, but provisions in the col-
leges, because of their superior financing (endowment and fees) and their
more economicically run buildings, were better than those in rented
rooms and inns. In a private hospitium or in shared student accommo-
dation (duodena), the student had to negotiate the quality of the meals
with the landlord, professor or innkeeper and then had to accept what
he was given. Perhaps the student’s meals were not much different, or
only slightly so, from the meals of an ordinary citizen, consisting of
several courses and wine. On the other hand, it was a tradition in univer-
sity towns that committees of tax-collectors checked rent, housing and
food and stipulated maximal prices at certain intervals. Rent (pensio)
and living quarters (bospitium) had to be in reasonable relationship to
each other. Rent had to be paid one year or half a year in advance; now
and again shorter periods were agreed upon. Extortionate rent, lack of
wood, bedding, drinks, etc. were everyday occurrences and a continuous
source of conflict, so that communes, nations and universities had to
intervene. Stipulations for rent and food, descriptions of quality, or the
auditing of bills, were everyday matters within the purview of the early
modern university. A comparative study of the fees, book prices and the
cost of living between the individual countries and for the whole period
would be desirable but cannot be realized.

In the eastern European countries, and in Italy and Germany as well,
most students lived in private quarters with citizens, innkeepers or pro-
fessors (sometimes well placed as Professorenburschen), or a group lived
together (particularly aristocratic students) with their own personnel. In
Spain, too, some of the students who had not found a place in one of
the colegios mayores had to look for more modest quarters elsewhere.
After the nobility had taken possession of these institutions, the so-called
pupilos had to find lodging in the mesones and pupilajes. Here the poor
students — the proletariat, so to speak — lived in such conditions as found
expression in picaresque novels. The students of law and medicine, usu-
ally from noble or at least wealthy backgrounds, lived in much more
luxurious quarters. The nations ensured the necessary control and
quality.

Basically, the student’s board and lodging in the early modern period
was dependent on his social status, and on the money his parents gave
him, unless he had a grant or a place in college. There were also some
marginal national peculiarities concerning eating habits. A sixteenth-
century student elegy — even if it is persiflage - shows how meals were
regarded by those concerned:

346

Student education, student life

We had good food . . . and twice a day seven courses, at midday and in the
evening. The first was called Semper (always), gruel. The second Continue
(constantly), a soup. The third Quotidie (daily), that is vegetables, the
fourth Frequenter (often), that is lean meat, the fifth Raro (seldom), that
is roast, the sixth Numquam (never), cheese, the seventh Aliquando
(sometimes), fruit.*®

In addition there was water, wine or beer and the obligatory bread.
Luxuries like coffee, tea, brandy or even chocolate were despised, but
belonged for just that reason to the luxury goods consumed by the stud-
ent according to the size of his purse.

In order to reduce social pressure to a certain extent, there were free
tables at many universities, at which poor students could eat free of
charge. At the theological Academy of Kiev poor junior students received
daily a portion of borsch (beetroot soup) and porridge. Some of the
pauperes lived in one of the two hostels or bursae. Those who did not
obtain a grant earned their living by begging, working or even raiding
markets and shops.*’

Social pressure, however, is documented in another sphere — that of
student credit. In nearly all countries there was no lack of penal orders
and precepts for the landlords, innkeepers and other tradesmen not to
give students credit over a long period of time. The danger of getting
into debt was omnipresent, and it was almost impossible to sue for the
debt because of the student’s frequent change of address. There were also
tax regulations limiting the amount a student was allowed to borrow for
lodging, food, washing or clothing. It was generally forbidden to borrow
money for luxuries like tobacco, tea, coffee or other fancy goods, for
billiards or for renting horses or sleighs. The Prussian credit law of 1796
states:

Money for food and laundry, the payment of wig-makers and barbers
should not be borrowed for more than a month; for renting a room and
bed and service for not more than a quarter of a year; for medicine and
doctors’ fees for not more than half a year; and for college fees, at the
longest until the end of the term.*°

Nevertheless, student debts remained a bane in England and Italy, in
Salamanca and Paris.

In contradistinction to the students in countries with a collegiate
system, the free students lived within the social sphere of the citizens of
the university town and more or less adapted themselves to the given

38 Quotation from H.-W. Prahl and I. Schmidt-Harzbach, Die Universitat — eine Kultur-
und Sozialgeschichte (Munich, 1981), 38.

°° Khizhnyak, Kievo-Mogylyanskaya Academiya (note 12), 175ff.

40 J. W. F. Koch, Die preussischen Universitaten: eine Sammlung von Verordnungen
(Berlin, 1839-40).

347

Rainer A. Miiller

circumstances. Their way of life was that of the citizens. They had intrin-
sically more academic freedom than their fellow students in hostels, but
also had more problems to solve. This mixture of independence and
conventional social life, as found in the student board-and-lodging situ-
ation, is correspondingly mirrored in clothing and behaviour.

The sixteenth-century student usually wore clerical-academic dress,
whereas in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries noblemen’s clothing
dominated.*' This was true at least of the free students. The dress dif-
fered from university to university in style and colour, and varied accord-
ing to grade and faculty. The sixteenth-century student’s clothing of cap
and gown was appropriate to his rank and originated in the clerical
dress of the Middle Ages. Black was the main colour for academics,
especially for theologians and philosophers, while lawyers and medical
doctors represented their disciplines in brighter gowns. In contrast to
the free students, the college students kept their clerical dress until after
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. While the former were able to
follow the fashion, the latter had to conform to the statutes of their
college and continue wearing the usually dark-coloured vestitutis scho-
lasticus sive clericalis, the gown and cap of the respective college. Dress
could be distinguished from college to college, if not by the colour then
at least by the badge or other special attributes, such as in Spain where
the beca, a sash of a certain colour according to colegio, supplemented
the loba (soutane), manteo (cape) and bonete (cap). These pieces of
clothing were in principle supposed to be neither luxurious nor expens-
ive. The nations, too, sometimes had their own distinguishing signs.

Even if academic dress was obligatory within university and college
domains, and although the student was able to demonstrate his special
position in a society in which social hierarchy was manifested by cloth-
ing, he followed the bourgeois or aristocratic fashions in his free time.
Indeed, the free students, especially those studying law, wore fashionable
clothing during the academic teaching periods and lectures. Fashionable
figures such as the gentilbomme or the cavalier appeared next to or
instead of clerical uniformity. Spanish noble dress was worn all over
Europe: baggy trousers, a tightly fitting puffed-sleeved doublet, a ruff,
a rapier and a cap became the principal articles of clothing. Pointed
shoes and later feathered hats (two- and three-cornered) completed this
bright outfit. In the eighteenth century a long-tailed coat dominated,
trousers became longer, stockings brighter and pointed neck-scarves
were worn instead of the wide ruff. The pointed beard disappeared and
hair became more abundant, with wigs and plaits appearing later.

41 Prahl, Die Universitét (note 38), 6o0ff.; F. Schulze and P. Ssymank, Das deutsche Studen-

tentum von den Gltesten Zeiten bis zur Gegenwart (Leipzig, 1910), 95ff.; M. Bauer,
Sittengeschichte des deutschen Studententums (Dresden, 1928), 3 6ff.

348

Student education, student life

In general it can be said that early modern student dress documented
visibly the social status to which the young academic aspired and which
corresponded best to his idea of the elite. Outside the university the student
wished to, indeed was supposed to, draw attention to his status and to tes-
tify to his membership in a college. University clothing statutes and college
regulations time and time again attacked exaggerated manifestations of
fashion, prohibited weapons and issued clothing regulations, but still stu-
dents from all classes in society preferred to dress a la mode.

STUDENT CEREMONIES

In addition to the usual academic ceremonies such as those occurring on
patron saints’ days, for dissertations and disputations, during which the
students played their part as members of the university, one particular
student custom developed as early as the Middle Ages. At some univer-
sities it was part of the process of enrolment and was thus of an official
nature. This is the deposition (depositio), the ceremonial discarding of
immaturity by the newly registered student. It is characteristic of the
cultural history of student life in the sixteenth, seventeenth and early
eighteenth centuries in all European countries, with certain national
subforms. This student-academic rite of initiation for entry into a nation,
college or university not infrequently took on frivolous and exaggerated
features.*”

The ceremonies of this depositio cornuum (knocking off of the horns,
maturing) symbolize that the new student has laid aside the immaturity
of the schoolchild and gained the dignity required for university
entrance. The beanus (bec jaune — greenhorn), the novice, Bacchant or
Pennal, was treated as a pecus campi (field animal): different tools were
used for knocking off his horns and, by means of certain rituals, he was
turned into a cultivated human being. This procedure, often directed
by a master or professor called the depositor, consisted of a normally
humorous, but sometimes also bawdy, examination, whereby the more
frivolous formal act was terminated by a serious final ceremony, the
absolution, followed by a convivium, a feast.

A seventeenth-century Swedish dissertation’ described the process of
deposition as follows.*°

The master of ceremonies, called the ‘Herr Depositor’, had those young
students, who wished to be admitted, put on clothes of various material

*? On the topic of deposition and penalism see W. Fabricius, Die akademische Deposition
(Frankfurt, 1895); Schulze and Ssymank, Deutsche Studententum (note 41), 85ff.;
Bauer, Sittengeschichte (note 41), 75ff.; P. Krause, O alte Burschenherrlichkeit, die Stu-
denten und ihr Brauchtum (Graz, 1979), 22£f., 324f.

* Quoted from Prahl, Die Universitat (note 38), 60.

349

Rainer A. Miiller

and colour. Their faces were blackened, long ears and horns were affixed
to their hats, the rim of which was turned down, into the corners of their
mouths were put long pigs’ teeth, which they had to hold in their mouths
like small pipes on pain of being beaten with sticks; a long black cloak
was hung over their shoulders. Thus, more frightfully and ridiculously
dressed than those led to the stake by the Inquisition, the depositor let
them out of the deposition room and drove them before him like a herd
of oxen or asses into a hall where an audience awaited them. He had them
stand in a circle, with himself in the middle and made faces, dumb shows,
laughing at their strange appearance and then addressed a talk to them,
ranging from burlesque to seriousness. He spoke of the sins and failings
of youth and showed how necessary it was for them to be bettered, chas-
tised and polished by study. Thereupon he asked them various questions,
which they had to answer. But the pigs’ teeth in their mouths prevented
them from speaking clearly, so that they grunted like swine, for which
reason the depositor called them swine, hit them lightly across the should-
ers with a stick and rebuked them. These teeth, he said, represented
excesses, since the understanding of young people was obscured by over-
indulgence in eating and drinking. Then from a sack he pulled wooden
tongs which he pressed round their necks and shook them so long until
the teeth fell onto the ground. If they were ready to learn and be diligent,
he said, they would lose their tendency to excess and greed just as they
had lost their pigs’ teeth. Then he tore off the long ears, giving them to
understand that they would have to study diligently if they did not want
to remain like asses. Further he took their horns which denoted brutal
coarseness and took a plane. Each beanus had to lie down first on his
stomach, then on his back and then on both sides. In each position he
planed their whole body and said: literature and arts would smooth
(polish) their minds.

‘Pennalism’ developed within the context of the deposition, almost a
form of perpetual depositio. This originated in the French universities
and from there spread all over Europe. Within the framework of this
crude student practice older students (Schoristen, Scheerer, Agenten,
Tribulierer) tyrannized the younger scholars (Pennalisten, innocentii,
imperfecti, neovisti) who carried as a sign of their apprenticeship a
feather (penna) in their belts. The customs and habits linked to this were
deep-rooted, and the subjugation of the young student to the older was a
sort of bondage with every possible humiliation. Corporal punishments,
enforced inebriation, and various torments formed a part of this torture,
which died out in the universities only in the eighteenth century.
There were also other student customs, such as a great variety of pro-
cessions through the town, examination ceremonies or inception rituals,
but they were not of the same importance as the deposition and ‘pennal-
ism’ rites. In Spain, for example, bullfights counted among the student
ceremonies, whether to celebrate the election of the rector, or a licentia-

5°

Student education, student life

tura or the doctorado. The nations at the French and Italian universities
held their celebrations according to special rules, just as at the English
colleges or French colléges. The festivities of the nations often developed
into festivals of ‘national consciousness’ and demonstrative ‘national-
ism’, where the students displayed the advantages of their own national-
ity in a foreign country.

The student-academic theatre,** to be found mainly in Catholic count-
ries, was more marginal to these festivities and ceremonies. Christoph
Stymmel’s play Studentes (1545) was widely known, but the somewhat
more violent unpolished student performances of that period were offset
by the moral intentions of Jesuit and school theatre, which could be
regarded more as pedagogic instruments.

HOLIDAYS AND FREE TIME

The division of the academic year differed from country to country, from
university to university, even from faculty to faculty, but nevertheless
some similarities still existed.*” All academic institutions had an exact
plan according to which lecture periods and holidays (vacationes) were
determined. The normal teaching period in early modern Europe was
from September/October until June/July of the following year, and the
long summer vacation (July-August) was supplemented by 8 to 14 days’
holiday at Christmas and Easter. The academic year was divided into
semesters, trimesters or four terms (Oxford), during which certain books
or parts of them had to be studied and completed.

Besides vacations, many free holidays offered time for recreation.
Besides Sundays, when church attendance was obligatory, there were
many saints’ days and festivals when no lectures were held. At some
universities there were nearly roo such free days, but the authorities
tended to cut back on the high number of holidays. Each university or
college had an academic calendar in which teaching time and free time
were exactly specified.

Within the strict norms and regulations governing student life in the
early modern period, the students had very little leeway for recreation
except for the free days or afternoons. Here again we have to differen-
tiate between the ‘free’ students, who had far more possibilities for
organizing their free time, and the college or hostel students. Walks
within the city or group excursions into the surrounding country were
the normal forms of recreation between the hours of study and on

“ F. S. Boas, University Drama in the Tudor Age (Oxford, 1914); J. M. Valentin, Le
Théatre des Jésuites dans les pays de langue allemande, 3 vols. (Berne, 1978).

* H. Boiraud, Contribution a l’étude historique des congés et des vacances scolaires en
France, du Moyen Age a 1914 (Paris, 1971).

351

Rainer A. Miiller

Sundays and holidays. Participation in such sports as fencing, riding,
swimming, dancing or even hunting*® was possible for the richer and
noble students. Poorer scholars had to pursue more modest activities;
excesses were exceptions.

Just as studies were subject to moral and ethical norms, so the statutes
and disciplinary regulations of the universities or communes governed
the students’ free time. There were diatribes and rules against brawls,
nightly debauches and gang behaviour, excessive consumption of
alcohol, games of hazard, dice, chance, cards and billiards, etc. Masked
processions with music, torchlight processions, sleigh and carriage rides,
fireworks, visits to indecent plays and dances — all these, and more, were
forbidden. In addition, public law and university edicts attacked above
all carousing in public houses or private quarters and student duelling.
The occasionally military appearance of students armed with sabres or
swords, and the highly sensitive code of honour of the period, frequently
led to injuries or deaths, which the state and university authorities tried
to prevent or to limit. Frequently it was pure insults, controversies
between nationally biased associations, or even disputes as to right of
precedence, which led to duels or — in Spain — to student wars between
the members of individual colleges or associations. Furthermore, the atti-
tude of the student corps often came into conflict with that of the citizens
of the town.

Drink, gaming and love: this ancient triad is often mentioned in the
contemporary literature as characteristic of everyday academic life, and
the reverence paid to Bacchus and Venus caused the authorities respon-
sible the greatest concern. Nearly all the statutes threatened to punish
severely contacts with women of ill repute and the frequenting of public
houses, with such punishments ranging from imprisonment to consilium
abeundi, expulsion from the university. These incidents should not, how-
ever, be overestimated just because they have been mentioned in litera-
ture and documents. To be sure, the students of the early modern period
committed their own rank-specific offences, had their moments of fric-
tion with the bourgeois milieu, were subject to academic arrogance.
Nevertheless, the academic day — both study period and free time — had
more positive aspects than negative ones.

46 R. A. Miler, Universitat und Adel. Eine soziostrukturelle Studie zur Geschichte der
bayerischen Landesuniversitat Ingolstadt 1472-1648 (Berlin, 1974); Conrads, Ritter-
akademien; J. H. Hexter, “The Education of the Aristocracy in the Renaissance’, Journal
of Modern History, 22 (1950), 1-20, reprinted in J. H. Hexter, Reappraisals in History
(London, 1961), 45-70; Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen.

Student education, student life

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Boiraud, H. Contribution a létude historique des congés et des vacances sco-
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Brockliss, L. W. B. French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
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Cabanés, D. ‘La vie des étudiants’, in Moeurs intimes du passé, Paris, 1949.

Carabias Torres, A. M. Colegios mayores: centros de poder, Historia de la Uni-
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Chartier, R., Compére, M.-M. and Julia, D. L’Education en France du XVIe au
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Compére, M.-M. Du collége au lycée (1500-1850). Généalogie de Il’enseigne-
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Coutin, A. Huit siécles de violence au Quartier Latin, Paris, 1969.

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354

CHAPTER 9

GRADUATION AND
CAREERS

WILLEM FRIJHOFF

DEGREES: SYMBOLS AND REALITIES

Without wishing to reduce the social role of the university to that of a
degree machine, we have to recognize that the first task allocated by
society to the university was to provide young people with an intellec-
tual, cultural and, if possible, a scientific qualification for use in their
later lives. The place occupied by the university in a given society — or
rather, its status — depended, at least in part, on its ability to provide
this qualification and, at the same time, to supply students with the tools
which would allow them to make use of it in their professional lives
(and in their private lives, so closely were the two intertwined under
the ancien régime), in addition to the general culture received at the
university.

The impact of this university mandate was all the greater because the
student’s years at university marked the end of his training period. It
even marked the end of his youth itself, for it should not be forgotten
that the age of adulthood was fixed in Roman law at 25 years and this
age was still valid for most of Europe under the ancien régime. More-
over, for a number of public offices or posts there was a fixed age limit
of around 25 years.’ Leaving the university, then, was tantamount to
entering professional life, closely followed by marriage if the student’s
clerical status did not prevent it. The degree, which concluded studies
or which was taken at the end of the peregrinatio academica, in this
context represented the end of a dual mobility: the geographical mobility

" Examples: J.-M. Pelorson, Les ‘Letrados’, juristes castillans sous Philippe III.
Recherches sur leur place dans la société, la culture et l’état (Poitiers, s.d. [1980]), 37,
60; D. Julia and J. Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études dans la France moderne’, in
Populations étudiantes, vol. il, 116-19.

255

Willem Frijhoff

of the young bachelor and the intellectual mobility of the pre-adult.
Once he had obtained his degree, the young man settled down to a career
and to family life. So whether it was celebrated in great pomp or granted
discreetly, the awarding of his final degree was for the student a sort of
initiation ritual which translated him from the state of a young trainee
to that of an adult (it should be noted that in the period which concerns
us the learned woman was only exceptionally admitted to the honours
of a university degree).* This was why, in Salamanca, the new doctor
was not in full possession of his title until he had killed a bull in a
corrida (the paseo doctoral) and had written his name in the bull’s blood
on the walls of the town. Initiation into the learned world was combined
powerfully here with initiation into the adult world.

Other, less brutal, ritual expressions of this dual passage were, how-
ever, found all over Europe: the drinking bouts which ritually
accompanied the farewell celebrations offered to fellow students on
graduation day strangely recall the bachelor’s stag party for the com-
panions of his youth on the eve of his wedding. The extravagantly
expensive post-doctorate dinners, which sometimes swallowed up a
small fortune and which the university authorities vainly strove to sup-
press or at least to regulate, were also equivalent to a rite in which the
old man passed away leaving the way open to a new start in life. So,
the final degree ritually and definitively put an end to the student’s train-
ing period, and he then found himself cut off from the liberties permitted
to the student world and could no longer count on the indulgence of
his fellow citizens for his wild escapades. Even if he still belonged to the
corps of doctors and consequently was still a suppositus (member) of the
university, his responsibilities from then on were elsewhere, in society as
a whole. Though he could still put off the end of his student life for a
few years by travelling to other universities to study or train, he had
henceforth to envisage his inevitable entry into professional life.

The student’s departure from university can be considered in three
ways. There is the act of leaving (the diploma, the examination, the
testimonium, perhaps a premature departure without any of the three),
the qualifications obtained, and finally the social and cultural roles of
the university assessed through the interplay of the professional positions
and careers of former students. We must be careful here to avoid too
simplistic a view. In the university world of the ancien régime, a diploma
was not automatically the guarantee of a real qualification; it marked
the end of studies without for all that signifying any specific aptitude.
It was part of what we could call a sociology of learned gestures: course

* See chapter 7, pp. 296-7.

356

Graduation and careers

of studies, peregrinatio academica, educational travel to meet the leading
lights of science and learn good manners, obtaining a degree, then get-
ting married, were all so many obligatory steps towards a successful
career. Rather than knowledge, the diploma sanctioned a period of
study, the social and cultural aptitude to embrace a social state or to
enter a profession. This can be seen a contrario in the career of real
scholars. From the letters left us by Johannes Fredericus Gronovius
(1611-71), son of a magistrate of Bremen, who went into exile in the
United Provinces because of the lack of prospects in his war-torn
country, we learn that, scholar of international renown though this
young philologist already was, he felt obliged to go and take a purely
formal doctorate in law at Angers to enhance his social status. And
indeed, hardly had he been promoted to graduate status, than career
offers flooded in. Moreover, no sooner had he taken up his first post as
a teacher than he married.* Here we have a twofold inconsistency:
between the discipline (studies in letters, degree in law) and between the
learning of a renowned scholar and the empty conventions of a purely
formal act. One of the fundamental achievements of the period in ques-
tion was to be, precisely, a public acknowledgement of these inconsist-
encies. From then onwards, an effort would be made to remedy the
situation by the establishment of closer links between studies and dip-
loma, and by supplementary examinations. These examinations could
be Malthusian, such as the competitive examinations arbitrarily limiting
the number of holders of certain public offices requiring a university
education, or they could be purely meritocratic, such as the aptitude
examination which simply ensured that the candidate’s qualifications
were sufficient for a particular occupation.

Similarly, we must be careful not to assume that there was an auto-
matic equivalence between the university degree, or the qualifications
obtained, and the subsequent career of the student. A knowledge of the
student’s university curriculum is not enough for us to be able to forecast
his professional future. In no country in Europe under the ancien régime
was what we can call the intellectual job market entirely open, nor were
employers really obsessed with degrees. Birth, competence and experi-
ence, which taken together were the guarantees of a good disposition,
were much more important. When trying to assess the respective roles
played by merit, birth and wealth in the appointments of manteista
graduates (that is those who had not followed the royal way of the
colegios mayores) to the Council of Castile, Janine Fayard estimated that

> P. Dibon and F. Waquet, Johannes Fredericus Gronovius, pélerin de la République des
Lettres: recherches sur le voyage savant au XVIIe siécle (Geneva, 1984).

357

Willem Frijhoff

studies, doctorate (rare enough) and teaching experience counted for no
more than a third.* In spite of the fact that a university degree was a
sine qua non for practice, it was rarely sufficient in itself. The fact is
that success in the available public office market was governed by many
other factors, such as the candidate’s origin, his family position, his place
in a system of clientele or patronage, his relations with the prince, and
his cultural, social or even financial capital, etc. This second inconsist-
ency was to lead to a second acute problem, which from the seventeenth
century at least haunted the minds of the authorities, that of the surplus
of intellectuals, or rather, that of the inconsistency — a source of resent-
ment and consequently a potential source of disorder — between their
level of university qualifications and the employment that they were able
to find. This problem was even more formidable because it was precisely
those ‘frustrated intellectuals’ who had a ready pen and were capable
of vigorously parading their discontent before a large audience. This can
clearly be seen in the Grub Street Writers, those hack journalists who,
at the end of the ancien régime, were accused of fomenting the Revol-
ution with their articles. It can be seen, too, in those physicians without
a practice like Jean-Paul Marat (1743-93), who was a physician of the
bodyguards of the count of Artois. Marat seethed with hatred for the
‘aristocrats’ of thought who, having despotically taken possession of an
essentially egalitarian Republic of Letters, had thwarted him of the place
which was his due.°

Formally, nothing had changed in the system of university degrees
since the Middle Ages. Over the centuries, however, each country, some-
times even each university, had drawn up its own rules governing the
required duration of studies, the nature of the examinations, the interval
between degrees, their cost and even their necessity, or the way to confer
them. The result is that it is virtually impossible to give an account of
the extreme variety of practices, which increased yet further following
the territorialization of European universities during modern times. The
account which follows aims simply at giving an overall impression. and
lays no claim to an exhaustiveness impossible to attain.

Degrees were always three in number: the baccalaureate, the licence
and the doctorate. Theoretically, studies in the three or four higher facul-
ties (medicine, civil and canon law, theology) were open only to those
who had completed studies in arts and obtained the degree of magister
artium, which itself was preceded by lower arts degrees. However, from

4 J. Fayard, Les Membres du Conseil de Castille a l’époque moderne’ (1621-1746)
(Geneva/Paris, 1979).

> R. Darnton, ‘The High Enlightenment and the Low-Life of Literature in Prerevolution-
ary France’, Past and Present, 51 (1971), 81-115, has initiated a long series of studies

in this field.

3§8

Graduation and careers

the sixteenth century, general education almost everywhere in Europe
had acquired its independence in the colleges of humanities.° Sometimes
these colleges retained an organic link with the university. This was the
case with Louvain, Cologne, and certain university towns in France, the
Germanic universities which followed the Sturm model with their paeda-
gogia, the Jesuit colleges or others incorporated in the arts faculties, etc.’
Elsewhere, the separation was more rigorous. In these regions the arts
faculty was able to develop more freely into a real higher faculty dispen-
sing teaching in philosophy, philology, mathematics and sciences at a
high level. In some cases the arts faculty was virtually absorbed by the
colleges and the university only served to award the degrees prepared
elsewhere (in fact, only the master’s degree existed in this case), and in
others the teaching of arts developed into a scientific curriculum
crowned by a higher degree which then tended increasingly to be called
a doctorate in philosophy, although the recollection of the old master
of arts degree remained attached to it (doctor philosophiae et liberalium
artium magister, according to the accepted formula).°

It is obvious that in each of these two cases the arts faculties had a
totally different physiognomy. They had virtually nothing in common.
As far as student flows or the number and status of diplomas are con-
cerned, it would be completely pointless to attempt to compare, for
example, a plethoric arts faculty of the first type, such as those in Lou-
vain or Cologne, which were in fact nothing but immense secondary
schools spread over several establishments (the humanities colleges),
with the faculty in Leiden close by, with its low student numbers, where
there was little propaedeutic about the teaching of arts subjects. Never-
theless, whether it was because of the low intellectual level of the stud-
ents entering the higher faculties, the increasing specialization of these
faculties which revealed the need for a more solid general culture, or
because of greater demands from the church and the state, efforts were
made in all European countries throughout the modern age to restore
their propaedeutic role to the arts faculties. This was the purpose of the
repeated measures imposing a period of studies in arts, or a master of
arts degree itself, as a condition for entering one of the higher faculties.
The very repetition of these measures and complaints, however, shows
how ineffective they were.

In all countries, the obtaining of a degree was statutorily linked to a
certain duration of studies. We could even go as far as to say that the
duration of studies was a much more important prerequisite for a degree

° See chapter 7, pp. 290-1, and chapter 8, pp. 333ff.
” Cf. The ratio studiorum of the Jesuit order, as analysed in Hengst, Jesuiten, 59-71.
® Frijhoff, Gradués, 42-3.

359

Willem Frijhoff

than the level of qualification acquired.’ This is all the more true since
the duration of studies (the number of years, of semestrial (Empire) or
termly (France) registrations, or yet again the number of courses
followed) tended to be decisive in obtaining public office, as can be seen
in the quinquennium (five years of studies) required in France for
obtaining an ecclesiastical benefice. Moreover, there were exceptions
even to the requirement of a fixed period of studies. The result was
that in eighteenth-century France reductions in study time or exemptions
because of age (over 24 years) became a veritable scourge involving at
least a third of graduates. They were authorized to take a degree without
providing evidence of a period of study — which obviously does not mean
that they had not studied at all.’° At Oxford, the master of arts degree
could be granted by decree to ‘noblemen’ and to ‘gentlemen-commoners’
who could show that they had been in residence for a certain time. The
regular period of studies could be quite long but also varied according
to the faculties, with theology studies normally lasting longest. In Tii-
bingen at the beginning of the sixteenth century, after having taken his
master of arts degree, a student had to reckon on spending a further ten
years for a degree in theology or six to eight years for law as against
five years for medicine. The Laudian Code (1636) at Oxford required
seven years for a master of arts degree, then three years for the doctorate
in medicine or in law, but seven years for theology. In France, a law
degree (licence) required three years of study after the 1679 reform
whereas the theology degree took five years. A licence in medicine
required, in theory, at first five to six years, then four years after 1696,
and finally after 1707 three years at least — but this gradual (and doubt-
less realistic) reduction was accompanied by an increasingly rigorous
check on attendance."

It can be noted, moreover, that students tended to reduce the duration
of their studies during the modern age. This reduction led the authorities
on occasion to adopt what was more often than not a realistic approach
to the minimum time required, and hence to shorten it. So, in Spain it
was fixed in 1770 at four years for the baccalaureate, an obvious
compromise between the need for adequate training and the students’
haste. In France, whilst it is not certain that the average age of law

” For Spain, see Pelorson, Letrados (note 1), 106; L. E. Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares, La
Universidad salmantina del Barroco, periodo 1598-1625, vol. m1 (Salamanca, 1986),
727-35. For France: J. Verger, ‘Les universités a |’€poque moderne’, in G. Mialaret and
J. Vial (eds.), Histoire mondiale de l'éducation, vol. 1 (Paris, 1981), 251.

10 Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1).

" Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1), passim; P. Huard, ‘L’enseigne-
ment médico-chirurgical’, in R. Taton (ed.), Enseignement et diffusion des sciences en
France au XVIIIe siécle, Histoire de la Pensée, 9 (Paris,-1964; reprint Paris, 1986), 177-
9; Chartier, Education en France, 261-3.

360

Graduation and careers

students had fallen from the seventeenth to the eighteenth century, it
does seem that students tended to take the minima literally. The regu-
lations demanded eight terms for the baccalaureate, twelve (four years)
for the licence degree and this was the actual time that most students
spent on them.’* Nevertheless, in the long run, the reduction does seem
to have been real. Students at Breslau, who in the 1546-65 period spent
five to six years at university, stayed only four years in 1626-45." For
the Habsburg countries and Germany in the seventeenth century, the
duration was comparable, four years or slightly less.’* In the United
Provinces, where regulations governing the duration of studies were lax,
the average age on obtaining the diploma dropped from 24 years in the
seventeenth century to 21-22 years in the second half of the eighteenth,
which suggests a similar trend.»

Each degree was normally preceded by a test to check the candidate’s
capacities. It could be an examination, a public disputation, the defence
of a position adopted in a thesis or the delivery of a pro gradu disser-
tation (not to be confused with the exercitii gratia theses which took
place during the course of studies but which should not be considered
examinations), or one or several public lectures — called Wall lectures
at Oxford because the candidate normally spoke to an empty room.
The degree itself was conferred during a very ancient academic ritual.
A doctoral ceremony, for example, would generally include a preamble
or an exhortation, the laudatio of the candidate, the doctoral oath
(including normally a confessional oath, particularly since Pope Pius IV
in his 1564 bull In sacrosancta, had prescribed this oath before any
defence), the ritual handling of the symbolic insignia (the book opened
then closed, the ring as a symbol of marriage with the Muses, the pre-
senting of the gloves and the cap, sometimes of the spur or another
attribute of nobility to the candidate placed on the doctoral seat), finally
the formula by which the candidate was vested with his degree by virtue
of the powers conferred by the competent authority, without forgetting

2 Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1), 151-8. Against R. L. Kagan,
‘Law Students and Legal Careers in Eighteenth-Century France’, Past and Present, 68
(1975), 38-72.

'S G. Kliesch, Der Einfluss der Universitat Frankfurt (Oder) auf die schlesische Bildungsge-

schichte dargestellt an den Breslauer Immatrikulierten von 1506-1648 (Wiirzburg,

1961), 36-7.

A. Kohler, ‘Bildung und Konfession. Zum Studium der Studenten aus den habsbur-

gischen Landern an Hochschulen im Reich (1560—1620)’, in G. Klingenstein, H. Lutz

and G. Stourzh (eds.), Bildung, Politik und Gesellschaft. Studien zur Geschichte des
europdischen Bildungswesens vom 16. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Wiener Beitrage zur

Geschichte der Neuzeit, 5 (Vienna, 1978), 102; W. Frijhoff, ‘Surplus ou déficit? Hypo-

théses sur le nombre réel des étudiants en Allemagne a l’€poque moderne (1576-1815),

Francia, 7 (1979), 186-9.

'S Frijhoff, Gradués, 163-7.

361

Willem Frijhoff

the presentation of the sealed diploma.’® The solemn and public cer-
emonies began with a procession and a religious service. Moreover, the
degree was often conferred in the university church before the construc-
tion of special amphitheatres such as the Sheldonian Theatre at Oxford
(1669). Depending on the university, the ceremonies would be individ-
ualized (but in this case the defence was often made privatim, without
pomp) or would take place once a year, or even once every two or three
years only, for a whole group of candidates. The doctoral banquet was
obligatory everywhere, but was often replaced by a tax.

One of the major consequences of the variety of practices in the
awarding of degrees was the increasing distrust of foreign diplomas by
university, civil and ecclesiastical authorities who doubted their value.
Sometimes doubt was cast even on the examinations of national univer-
sities. Hence, in the United Provinces, in spite of the fact that the first
universities were expressly created for the training of pastors, the
Reformed Church never really trusted them. From the end of the six-
teenth century, it admitted as candidates for pastorships only those stud-
ents in theology who had passed an ecclesiastical examination before
the representatives of the synodal or classical authority. Moreover, a
university training was not even formally required until towards the end
of the seventeenth century. At the beginning, on-the-job training was
sufficient, exactly as with the prophesyings of the Puritans in England.
In practice, this position led to the virtual disappearance of degrees in
theology, save for ambitious scholars or as an honour for recently
appointed professors.’”

Reservations about foreign diplomas were, of course, strengthened by
confessional divisions and by the princes’ desire to control the level of
training of their future collaborators from whom they expected hence-
forth a specific competence. This was part of the increasing compart-
mentalization of Europe and seemed to be proportional to the degree of
centralization of public administrations (see further chapter 10). How-
ever, the effect of the prohibition could only be small when it was unac-
companied by sanctions affecting the practice of professions. So, the
warning notices published from 1591 on by the Dutch States-General
against studies in the Catholic universities were to remain virtually a
dead letter, whereas those of the sovereigns of the Southern Netherlands

"© Cf. for instance, at eighteenth-century Oxford: L. Sutherland, ‘The Curriculum’, in His-
tory of Oxford V, 469-91; at Caen: W. Frijhoff, ‘Le médecin selon Jacques Cahaignes
(1548-1617). Autour de deux soutenances en médecine 4 Caen au début du XVIle
siécle’, Lias, 10 (1983), 193-215; at Salamanca: Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares, La Univ-
ersidad salmantina (note 9), vol. 11, 700-820; at Basle: E. Bonjour, Die Universitat Basel
von den Anfdngen bis zur Gegenwart 1460-1960 (Basle, 1960), 278-82; at Glasgow:
D. Murray, Memories of the Old College of Glasgow (Glasgow, 1927), 306-9.

” Frijhoff, Gradués, 45-7.

362

Graduation and careers

were much more respected because of the consequences that infringe-
ment could have on the candidate’s career. But, generally speaking, these
sanctions presupposed that the practice of a profession was linked to a
diploma with civil consequences which could be impugned. Now, trades
or professions which demanded a university degree were rare until well
into the seventeenth century. It was often sufficient to be able to provide
proof of a period of studies, attested by a testimonium signed by the
professor or the dean.

COSTS AND BENEFITS

Usually, the degree was expensive. At the very least it cost the equivalent
of several months’ wages, but it often cost a year or more’s wages; sev-
eral score pounds sterling in England, 1oo thaler in Germany, almost
200 florins in Holland. There were, however, considerable differences
in cost depending on the faculty, the university, and, above all, the type
of degree. The doctorate was, of course, dearer than the licence, and the
licence dearer than the baccalaureate. Above all, the cost of a degree
was a means of limiting competition on the market. A flagrant example
of this Malthusian use can be seen in the doctorate in medicine of the
French universities. From the eighteenth century, it cost several hundred
Tours pounds (that is a worker’s yearly wage) almost everywhere, but
the sum involved rose in the course of the century to a total of 5,614
pounds in Paris towards the mid-eighteenth century — a veritable fortune.
Going yet further, universities such as Angers or Reims made a distinc-
tion between an expensive doctorate (2,000 pounds in Angers, 3,500
for the ‘great ordinary’ in Reims) giving the right to practise in the uni-
versity town itself and to teach as a master-doctor at the university, and
another doctorate (called, in Reims, the ‘small ordinary’) seven times
cheaper, which was designed for those who were happy to go and pract-
ise medicine outside the university towns. There was also a cheap and
easy doctorate designed for foreigners.'®

This expenditure, of which the maximum was the equivalent of a
skilled worker’s wages for ten years, was exorbitant but should be
appreciated at its real value. In fact, a distinction must be made between
two systems of awarding degrees. In the first system, inherited from the
Middle Ages, degrees were acquired successively, and the lower degree
was a precondition for access to the higher degree. This system was to
remain in force under the ancien régime in all the great centralized states
(France, Spain, England, etc.) and, generally speaking, in all the territor-
ies of the south of Europe. Royal edicts regularly recalled the importance

8 Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1), 279-81.

363

Willem Frijhoff

of this system, doubtless because it seemed to guarantee a certain regu-
larity in the control of knowledge. But the multiplicity of degrees also
permitted a diversification of their functions. In this system the licence
was the degree which constituted the final sanction for a curriculum;
it qualified the graduate to practise as a physician or a lawyer almost
everywhere. In Castile, even the baccalaureate was enough for the bar.”
Generally speaking, the doctorate, which could follow the licence with-
out any particular interval, and which was consequently often awarded
on the same day or on the day following the awarding of a licence, did
not assume the character of a cognitive sanction but assured the
admission of the graduate into the order of scholars, by a more symbolic
set of exercises. It was the real initiation rite into the corporation of
those who, collectively, were entrusted with the task of defining and
defending the scientific level of the university. By his incorporation into
this world (expressed in titles such as doctor regens), the new doctor
became co-responsible for it and it was this membership of the elite
responsible for science, its development and its teaching which was cel-
ebrated in the doctoral ceremony. The hierarchy and the functional
diversification of degrees explain to a large extent the disparities between
their relative frequencies. At Cracow, in the sixteenth century, only a
quarter of bachelors of arts went on to the master’s degree.”° In Sala-
manca, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, when the baccalaur-
eate was qualification enough for practice as a lawyer or a physician,
only 2 per cent of bachelors took a licence and o.7 per cent their
doctorate.”’

The second system gradually evolved from the first in the course of
modern times, particularly in the Germanic territories. We can clearly
follow it at Leiden, where the 1589 regulations still laid down a sequence
of baccalaureate, licence and doctorate, but where the baccalaureate dis-
appeared de facto at the end of the sixteenth century and the licence
half a century later, save for foreigners. The baccalaureate was replaced
there by the title of ‘candidatus’, which was obtained after an examin-
ation. The doctorate alone remained. However, nobles who wanted to
stand out and show that they had no need of this substitute for nobility
sometimes contented themselves with a simple licence. Henceforth, the
doctorate was infinitely more frequent in the United Provinces (and in
the Empire) than in those countries applying the other system of degrees.

”? Pelorson, Letrados (note 1), 17.

20 L. Hajdukiewicz, ‘Travaux préparatifs a Védition du ‘Corpus Academicum
Cracoviense”’, in M. Kulczykowski (ed.), L’Histoire des universités. Problémes et
méthodes. Iére Session scientifique internationale, Cracovie 13-14 mai 1978, Zeszyty
Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellonskiego DLXvu. Prace Historyczne, Z. 67 (Warsaw/
Cracow, 1980), 81.

71 Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares, La Universidad salmantina (note 9), vol. I, 520-2.

364

Graduation and careers

In fact, the title of doctor rapidly became the equivalent of ‘graduate’,
even if the graduate only had a licence, and to add to the confusion,
graduates in law used the title of ‘meester’ (magister) though they were
licentiates or doctors.** This single degree system existed de facto in
many other territories in northern Europe. It explains, for example, the
rarity of degrees in a country such as Sweden where the master of arts
degree (magister philosophiae) was used as a general non-specific title.
The higher degrees there were only sought after by future professors and
scholars. The courts of law and the church in Sweden recognized those
who had taken their own final examination.*? There was the same con-
fusion deriving from these changes in meaning even under the other
system of degrees. Cervantes and Quevedo seized every opportunity sar-
castically to denounce Castilians who had a baccalaureate but who
passed themselves off as licentiates or who called themselves doctor.**
In fact, in both cases, it was the social prestige of the title of doctor
which decided usage.

The very nature of the doctorate as a rite de passage or initiation rite,
ensuring final entry into the world of scholars, could make it expensive
because of the cost of the pompa. Depending on the country, a variable,
but always high and strictly regulated number of farewell or admission
ceremonies and gifts to the new peers, was to be expected: meals, drink-
ing bouts, gifts of gloves, of rabbits, of confectionery, of fruit, etc.*°
Whenever they can be calculated, these subsidiary expenses prove enor-
mous. And woe betide the person who tried to avoid them! In Castile,
the cost of the doctorate amounted to several hundred ducats.*° Pastor
Zacharias Hermann paid out the enormous sum of 622 thaler and 23
groats (at least five times his expected annual salary) to obtain his doc-
torate in theology at Frankfurt-on-Oder on 30 May 1611. This small
fortune included his travelling expenses from Breslau, it is true, but only
12 per cent (73 thaler and 32 groats) was paid to the faculty; the rest
was spent on jocalia and bellaria, the ‘extras’ which ritually marked the
installing of the new doctor.”’

The cost of the degree led candidates to content themselves with the
licence, which normally had civil effects similar to those of a doctorate.

Frijhoff, Gradués, 43-5. For Germany see H.-W. Prahl, Sozialgeschichte des Hoch-
schulwesens (Munich, 1978), 131.

Cf. S. Lindroth, Uppsala Universitet 1477-1977 (Stockholm, 1976); in English A His-
tory of Uppsala University 1477-1977 (Uppsala, 1977); Klinge, Kuningliga Akademien.
Pelorson, Letrados (note 1), 108-11.

See the impressive list of such gifts on the occasion of a doctorate in law or medicine
at Salamanca (1619) in Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares, La Universidad salmantina (note
9), vol. Il, 910-12.

Pelorson, Letrados (note 1), 200-3.

Kliesch, Der Einfluss (note 13), 29-30.

2
25

2
27

365

Willem Frijhoff

Hence, in France, according to the royal edict of March 1707, a licence
in medicine was the only requirement for practising medicine, but the
public ceremony which led to the doctorate could immediately follow
the granting of the licence. So the difference, apart from that of cost, lay
in a longer examination (five hours), in greater dignity, and in possible
incorporation into the ranks of the doctores regentes, and hence, of the
professors.*® Selection by wealth, resulting from the high cost of the
doctorate, was therefore also a professional selection. It was, moreover,
the considerable difference in the cost of the degree depending on the
university which partly explained the discrepancy between the network
of study universities and that of graduation universities.

Nevertheless, the cost of the degree could be proportional to the ben-
efits expected; these could be immaterial or material and sometimes both
at the same time. Selective studies show that in his own professional
sector the graduate could expect to earn more than the non-graduate.”’
Under the ancien régime, a society structured according to the principle
of honour or dignity, the university degree was primarily a source of
social rights and privileges. Being the highest degree, the doctorate could
arouse expectations of a maximum of prestige.

The eminence conferred by the doctorate can be seen in the Reformers’
ambiguous attitude towards it. In the medieval world it was the church
which legitimated social values and consequently the theologians domi-
nated all contemporary fundamental debate on God, the creation and
society.°° The doctorate in theology, which allowed the doctor to lay
claim to an authority of his own, had received its formal consecration
during the conciliar movement in the later Middle Ages. At the Councils
of Constance (1414-18) and Basle (1431-43) the doctors in theology
had been able to vote on an equal footing with the bishops. Martin
Luther was personally very proud of his doctorate in theology, obtained
in 1512, which endowed him with an authority of his own, that of
science. The doctorate, which was beholden neither to the civil nor
even to the ecclesiastical authorities, gave him the authority to stand
up to the two powers of this world. It was no matter of chance that
Luther’s reforming activity, from the famous theses of 1517 to the table
talk via the disputations, was to adopt or mimic the forms of learned

8 Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1), 246-9.

2? W. Frijhoff, ‘Université et marché de |’emploi dans la République des Provinces-Unies’,
in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 226-9.

°° G. H. M. Posthumus Meyjes, ‘Het gezag van de theologische doctor in de Kerk der
Middeleeuwen: Gratianus, Augustinus, Triumphus, Ockham en Gerson’, Nederlands
Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis, 63 (1983), 105-8; H. A. Oberman, ‘University and
Society on the Threshold of Modern Times: the German Connection’, in J. M. Kittelson
and P. J. Transue (eds.), Rebirth, Reform and Resilience: Universities in Transition
1300-1700 (Columbus, Ohio, 1984), 29-31.

366

Graduation and careers

sociability — the society where the doctor was king. What Luther did
not accept, however, was the arrogance of the doctors who took advan-
tage of their position to pronounce on matters that had not been pre-
viously verified by scientific research. He particularly detested the doc-
tores canonum and apparently said to his son, ‘If you become a jurist,
P’ll have you hanged’.*! But at the same time he advocated a better legal
training for magistrates, following an enlightened current of opinion
which, in the Mirrors of the prince (Machiavelli 1513, Erasmus 1515,
Guevara 1529, etc.), or of the councillor (Lauterbeck or Oldendorp in
Germany, Castilla or Bobadilla in Spain),** insisted on the need for a
greater correspondence between the administrative and legal tasks of the
governors or the elected officials and their educational level.*?

What did split the Reformers, however, was the very principle of auth-
ority among Christians. Matthew 23:8 (‘Be not ye called Rabbi’) here
played a crucial role. The partisans of radical Reform refused all higher
authority in the explanation of the Scriptures, claiming that these spoke
for themselves. Luther was, at first, in favour of the suppression of the
doctorate in theology at Wittenberg in 1523. Was it not right for the
liberty of the Gospel to be reflected in academic liberty? Karlstadt, dean
of the faculty of theology, then renounced his title and his doctoral robes
and retired to Orlamiinde wearing a farmworker’s smock to become no
more than a ‘new layman’. Basle followed the movement. Capiton and
Bucer intervened, but in 1533 the doctorate was restored in Wittenberg,
then in Basle.** This debate gives us a penetrating insight into the great
value attributed to the doctorate, a symbolic value, but with a very real
socio-cultural effect. The churches were not mistaken. The doctorate in
theology was the very symbol of the renewal of the churches in that the
renewal tended to replace the ritualistic role of the minister of religion

31M. Luther, Tischreden (WA 1913, 26): ‘Wen du solst ein jurist werden, so wolt ich
dich an ein galgen hengen.’ Cf. H. Thieme, ‘Le réle des doctores legum dans la société
de l’Allemagne du XVIe siécle’, Recueil de mémoires et de travaux publiés par la Société
d’histoire du droit et des institutions des anciens pays de droit écrit, vol. v1 (Montpellier,
1967), 45-9.

G. Lauterbeck, Regentenbuch (Leipzig, 1557); J. Oldendorp, Politischer Unterricht fir
die Ratsherrn in Stédten und Kommunen (1634); for Spain: J. Castilla y Aguayo, El
perfecto regidor (Salamanca, 1586); J. Castillo de Bobadilla, Politica para corregidores
y senores de vasallos (Madrid, 1597).

B. Singer, Die Firstenspiegel in Deutschland im Zeitalter des Humanismus und der
Reformation (Munich, 1981); N. Hammerstein, ‘ ‘‘Grofser fiirtrefflicher Leute Kinder.”
Fiirstenerziehung zwischen Humanismus und Reformation’, in A. Buck (ed.), Renais-
sance — Reformation. Gegensatze und Gemeinsamkeiten, Wolfenbiitteler Abhandlungen
zur Renaissance-Forschung, 5 (Wiesbaden, 1984), 265-86.

E, Kahler, ‘Karlstadts Protest gegen die theologische Wissenschaft’, in L. Stern (ed.),
450 Jahre Martin Luther Universitat, vol. 1 (Wittenberg/Halle, 1952), 299-309; H.
Barge, Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt, vol. 11 (Leipzig, 1905), 15; on Luther’s pos-
ition: Y. Congar, Vraie et fausse réforme dans l’église (Paris, 1969), 455-65.

367

Willem Frijhoff

with a more intellectual, cognitive and educational conception. The min-
ister of religion became the Minister of the Word, Verbi Divini minister,
as the Calvinists were to call him. For Calvin, a doctor was not necessar-
ily a pastor, but every pastor should be a doctor.*» Moreover, the abol-
ition of the episcopate led to an extension of the theological role of
the doctor in the Reformation churches. In the great reform movement
outlined by the Catholic Church, the importance of the intellectual train-
ing of its leaders was, in its turn, stressed by the Council of Trent. It
stipulated that ecclesiastical dignities and the episcopate in particular
should be reserved to licentiates and doctors in theology or in canon
law (session 24, chap. 12). On Lutheran territory, the lofty status of the
doctor of theology was for long reflected in the pre-eminence of the
professor of theology over the other professors in the university. But the
provisions of Trent were already leading up to the victory of law over
theology and to a more functional conception of studies.

The doctor in law was reputed to be noble (comes legum); he had
been reputed to be so since at least the late Middle Ages.** In every case
this was a personal, non-transmissible nobility, ‘by participation’. The
Mediterranean countries (Spain, Italy) would seem to be the cradle of
this ideology. The Italian jurists vied with each other in singing the
praises of their own nobiliary dignity, more noble than that of those
who were noble by birth (L. Cantini) and which the eminent Perugian
jurist Bartolus de Saxoferrato (1314-57) claimed was incorporated in
the person of the doctor, even after he had ceased his teaching activities.
It is true that this precocious meritocratic tone should be heard against
the peculiar background of the struggle between the old nobility and the
new urban bourgeoisie in medieval Italy. It is no less true, however, that
the ultramontane students brought this ideology back from their travels.
The aristocratization of the universities in the course of the sixteenth
century gave fresh impetus to this ideology, expressing it more broadly
in terms of the ‘nobility of letters’, without always including a specific
reference to the doctorate. In this way it could be used to support the
aristocratic pretensions of the ever more educated urban patriciate, par-
ticularly in the quasi-independent cities of Italy, the Empire and the Low
Countries. It also became an important weapon in the great social reor-
ganization that the rising bourgeoisies were demanding almost every-
where in Europe. So in 1595, we had the German Johann Lauterbach

°° W. F. Dankbaar, ‘L’office des docteurs chez Calvin’, Revue d’histoire et de philosophie
religieuses, 44 (1964), 364-85.

3 H. Lange, ‘Vom Adel des Doctor’, in K. Luig and P. Liebs (eds.), Das Profil des Juristen
in europdischer Tradition (Ebelsbach, 1980), 279-94; I. Baumgartner, ‘De privilegiis
doctorum. Uber Gelehrtenstand und Doktorwiirde im spaten Mittelalter’, Historisches
Jahrbuch, 106 (1986), 298-332.

368

Graduation and careers

exalting the precedence of letters over arms, before extolling the excel-
lence of their alliance.°” We were, then, in the midst of the ‘Quarrel
between arms and letters’, a modern remake of the verbal sparring
matches between the cleric and the knight. The most famous echo of
this Quarrel was certainly Don Quijote (1606-15), the novel by Miguel
de Cervantes Saavedra, which at the same time dramatically underlined
the importance of the issues for all the social strata involved.*®
Alongside the weighty treatises on the privileges of the doctors, the
pamphlet by Everhard Bronchorst (1554-1627), doctor in law from
Basle and a professor at Leiden, provides a rapid overview of the situ-
ation.*’ After twenty years in office doctors in law became noble
(illustres seu nobiles efficiuntur); they had the right to the title of
palsgrave or comes palatinus — which gave them the right on occasions
to award doctorates themselves by virtue of imperial authority, disre-
garding the universities.*° This nobiliary quality was worth an increment
to their salary in Douai and in Salamanca. As nobles they had the right
to bear weapons, could aspire to be kept by their students (a belated
echo of feudal relationships?), were exempt from civic duties and taxes,
and could not be imprisoned for debt, nor tortured. Their children had
the right to free schooling and their wives to wear luxury garments. So
it was that in the dress regulations (1731) of a non-university town like
Frankfurt-on-Main, the doctors in law and in medicine were placed in
the highest category, with the patriciate, before the wealthy tradesmen.”
These privileges were normally taken as inherent in the function of
doctor-regent, as in that of a professor or at least of a regular member
(suppositus) of the university. This was one of the reasons for the pres-
ence of doctors on many university rolls. As members of the university
community, they could also share in its privileges, in particular exemp-
tion from taxation and guard duties. The aristocratization of the uni-
versities in the sixteenth century found one of its roots here.** But, by

37 J. Lauterbach, Tractatus novus de armis et litteris (Wittenberg, 1595). A Spanish equiv-
alent: F. Nufiez de Velasco, Didlogo de contencién entre la milicia y la ciencia
(Valladolid, 1614).

38 J. A. Maravall, El bumanismo de las armas en Don Quijote (Madrid, 1948); J.-M.

Pelorson, ‘Le discourse des armes et des lettres et l’épisode de Barataria’, Les Langues

néo-latines, 212 (1975), 40-58.

E. Bronchorstius, Tractatus brevis, perspicuus et succinctus de privilegiis studiosorum,

tum professorum et doctorum (Leiden, 1621; new edn Franeker, 1695).

See chapter 4, note 88. -

Cf. C. Huerkamp, ‘Die preussisch-deutsche Arzteschaft als Teil des Bildungsbiirgertums:

Wandel in Lage und Selbstverstandnis vom ausgehenden 18. Jahrhundert bis zum Kai-

serreich’, in W. Conze and J. Kocka (eds.), Bildungsbiirgertum im 19. Jahrhundert, vol.

1: Bildungssystem und Professionalisierung in internationalen Vergleichen (Stuttgart,

1985), 380-1.

H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘L’aristocratisation des universités au XVle siécle’, in M.

Kulczykowski (ed.), Les Grandes Réformes des universités européennes du XVIe au

)

4
4

= =O

369

Willem Frijhoff

extension, pretensions to nobility were found wherever the doctors could
exploit them. Almost the whole of Europe resounded from time to time
with precedence quarrels, for with a doctorate it was possible to leave
the ranks of the common bourgeoisie and elevate oneself to the level of
the Second Estate — an essential symbolic advancement in the society of
orders. It is easy to understand, then, that the intellectual professions
were often described as ‘middling professions’, midway between nobility
and commoner.

DEGREES AS QUALIFICATIONS FOR PROFESSIONAL PRACTICE

Criticizing the university of his day in his opuscule on self-knowledge,
the great erudite Gerardus Johannes Vossius (1577-1649) demonstrated
that in France a mere law student could become a judge in five days.
Promoted candidate in law at Orléans on the first day, he should obtain
his licence utriusque juris the next day; he would be obliged to lose the
third day travelling from Orléans to Paris, but on the fourth day he
could be admitted to the bar, where on the strength of this meagre
experience he could be granted venia aetatis (age exemption) and accede
to the office of judge on the fifth day.** The criticism of the scholar was
significant on more than one account: it showed the dichotomy in the
use of the university, between the ideal of the scientists, aiming at a
certain level of qualification, and the purely instrumental practice of the
great majority. It also revealed that promotion to the degree was more
an administrative act inaugurating professional life than an examination
sanctioning an apprenticeship. It revealed, finally, that studies could be
perfectly dissociated from the acquisition of a degree. (On study
universities and the degree promotion circuit, see chapter 10, pp.
432-4.)

During the Middle Ages, degrees had been awarded according to a
universally recognized system of sanctions, as the normal conclusion of
a fixed period of study. In the modern age the degree system became
more diversified and changed its meaning. Before the major reforms of
the end of the eighteenth century, apart from the tutorial system in resi-
dential colleges, there was virtually no system of promotion by means of
successive and obligatory examinations (the apprentice approval system)
during the course of the curriculum. The only end-of-year examinations
were those which preceded the degree. More ceremonial than inquisi-

XXe-siécle. IIléme Session scientifique internationale, Cracovie, 15-17 mai 1980, Zesz-
yty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellonskiego DCCLXI. Prace Historyczne, Z. 79 (Warsaw/
Cracow, 1985), 37-47.

G. J. Vossius, ‘De cognitione sui libellus’, § xvm in T. Crenius (ed.), Consilia et methodi
aureae studiorum optime instituendorum (Rotterdam, 1692), 675-7.

370

Graduation and careers

torial, however, they did not really constitute an examination system.
They were rarely accompanied by tests to reveal the real level of the
candidate’s qualifications. The subjects of the disputations and the theses
were often traditional, foreseeable and easy to prepare; in no case did
they cover the whole breadth of the discipline. In England, for example,
it was only towards the end of the eighteenth century that examinations
objectively measuring scholastic merit appeared on the scene at Cam-
bridge, leading to the meritocratic-style ‘New Examination Statute’ at
Oxford and Cambridge which was introduced in 1801.**

The result was a slow but inexorable creation of alternative examin-
ation systems by employers, that is, by the church and the state. Since
there was no serious assessment of the students’ standard of qualifi-
cations when they left the university, the employers organized entrance
tests for candidates for office. The examinations could, of course, be
used to reject a particularly stupid candidate, but they also tested a cer-
tain number of specific prerequisites for holding office such as practical
knowledge, and above all they served to regulate arbitrarily the number
of candidates admitted. In fact, these pre-professional examinations at
one and the same time bore witness to and hastened the transition to
the meritocratic system and provided evidence of the candidate’s degree
of achievement, even if it is clear that in modern times merit was largely
interwoven into the cultural heritage (ascription).

It was the churches which were among the first to institute either such
examinations or additional conditions for admission to office. The cre-
ation of Catholic seminars could itself be considered an act of distrust
towards the universities. Even in countries such as France, where the
seminars, in competition with the colleges and religious orders, were for
long simple boarding-houses or halls of residence for the seminarists
destined for the priesthood but studying at the university, the time came,
towards the end of the seventeenth century, when the seminars them-
selves began to teach theology and so to compete directly with the
university.” The same trend can be seen in the examination that each
candidate for the Lutheran pastorate had to sit before a Superintendent,

Cf. S. Rothblatt, ‘The Student Sub-culture and the Examination System in Early 19th-
Century Oxbridge’, in Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, 247-303.

* H. Tiichle, ‘Das Seminardekret des Tridentiner Konzils und die Formen seiner geschicht-
lichen Verwirklichung’, Theologische Quartalschrift, 144 (1964), 12-30; D. Julia,
‘L’éducation des ecclésiastiques en France aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siécles’, in Problémes
d’histoire de l’éducation. Actes des séminaires organisés par l’Ecole francaise de Rome
et l’Universita di Roma — La Sapienza (janvier-mai 1985) (Rome, 1988), 141-205; for
Germany: A. Seifert, Weltlicher Staat und Kirchenreform. Die Seminarpolitik Bayerns
im 16. Jahrhundert (Miinster/Westfalen, 1978). For Poland: A. Petrani, Nauka prawa
kanonicznego w Polsce XVIII i XIX wieku (Lublin, 1961); S. Litak, ‘Das Schulwesen
der Katholiken in Polen. Entwicklung und Verfall’, in Klingenstein et al. (eds.), Bildung,
Politik und Gesellschaft (note 14), 124-37.

371

Willem Frijhoff

a consistory (in Saxony), a Kirchenrat (at Heidelberg) or a faculty, or
again, among the Calvinists, before the synodal or classical authority.“
Even in England, where students were obliged to subscribe to the Act
of Supremacy and to the Anglican confession and where the university
lived in perfect harmony with the state religion, it was the ecclesiastical
authorities who, from the second half of the sixteenth century, examined
the capacity of candidates for the pastoral ministry. It is true that very
rapidly they passed the burden of training to the universities, who
accepted it, and so control preceded the degree.*’ Mutatis mutandis the
Scandinavian countries followed the same system. Towards the mid-
seventeenth century, the teaching and the examination of pastors were
handed over by the state to the universities, deeply integrated, it is true,
into the symbiosis between church and state which was characteristic of
many Lutheran territories.

The churches were rapidly followed by the states. Here we have three
situations; the state trusts the universities, the state distrusts them, or
the state tries to establish a symbiosis between the university and the
needs of the community. In 1498, the king of France had imposed pos-
session of a licence or a doctorate in civil law on the lieutenants-general
of the bailliages and sénéchaussées. Doubtless the university test proved
insufficient, for in 1546 the Edict of Moulins laid down conditions for
the qualification examination for legal officers acting in the parliament
courts, and a good century later, under Louis XIV, Colbert radically
reformed law studies so that they were closer to professional require-
ments.** It should be noted that in France, the state placed its trust in
the universities and endeavoured to obtain better training by calling on
the goodwill of all, whilst at the same time closely controlling higher
education. It was only at the Revolution that this system was to be
wrecked. The new institutions were to be closely modelled on pro-
fessional needs. But even before the Revolution, state and university,
wishing to improve the qualifications of schoolteachers, started along
the road to selection by merit. They did so with the creation in 1766 of

4° B. Vogler, Le Clergé protestant rhénan au siécle de la Réforme (1555-1619) (Paris,
1976); G. Franz (ed.), Beamtentum und Pfarrerstand 1400-1800 (Limburg an der Lahn,
1972); C. Homrichhausen, ‘Evangelische Pfarrer in Deutschland’, in Conze and Kocka
(eds.), Bildungsbiirgertum (note 41), vol. 1, 248-78; C. A. Tukker, ‘The Recruitment
and Training of Protestant Ministers in the Netherlands in the Sixteenth Century’, in
D. Baker (ed.), Miscellanea historiae ecclesiasticae, vol. m (Louvain, 1970), 198-215.
R. O’Day, Education and Society 1500-1800. The Social Foundations of Education in
Early Modern Britain (London, 1982), 132-50.

D. Julia, ‘Frontiéres étatiques, clivages confessionnels et cloisonnements intellectuels
dans |’Europe des XVIe-XVlIle siécles’, in J. P. Genet and B. Vincent (eds.), Etat et
Eglise dans la genése de l’Etat moderne. Colloque organisé par le Centre national de
la recherche scientifique et la Casa de Velazquez, Madrid, 30 novembre et rer décembre
1984 (Madrid, 1986), 78-82.

372

Graduation and careers

the agrégation, a competitive examination for teachers, which reserved
60 places for docteurs agrégés in philosophy, belles-lettres and grammar
at the Paris faculty of arts for the most deserving.*’ All in all, the Spanish
reforms of the eighteenth century under Charles III (1759-88) and
Charles IV (1788-1808) can also be boiled down to a desire to trust
the universities and to obtain their collaboration on an equal footing —
even if the word ‘dialogue’ would be an exaggeration. To overcome the
state of decadence, to reform the occasional abuses without touching
the established structures, to maintain as long as possible the fiction of
university independence — this was the shape of Bourbon reforming
policy in Spain.*°

In the second situation, we have a state which was somewhat distrust-
ful of the universities and set its own examinations alongside those of
the university. This distrust was to be found mainly in northern Europe
and raises the question of just how far it was linked to the belated pene-
tration of Roman, learned law into the practice of civil justice in these
territories between the fifteenth and the seventeenth centuries. In the
small, territorial ‘family’ universities in Germany, state control could be
exercised directly by individuals, but the situation was different in the
major states. Sweden, for example, in 1620 introduced a practical
traineeship for the auditores of the law courts, and King Charles XI
instituted in 1678 an entrance examination for deputy public pros-
ecutors.”' In the eighteenth century, both Denmark (1736) and Sweden
(1750) introduced a preliminary entrance examination for the public
service.

But it was in Prussia in particular that the state stood out for its ten-
acious and coherent efforts to nationalize and professionalize all intellec-
tuals, without omitting to base its reforms on a new public service
ethic.°? The Prussian state’s measures were, moreover, legitimated by

* D. Julia, ‘La naissance du corps professoral’, Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales,
39 (1981), 71-86.

°° See chapter 3, note 11.

51K. A. Modéer, ‘Die Rolle der Juristen in Schweden im 17. Jahrhundert. Eine rechtshisto-
rische Skizze’, in G. Rystad (ed.), Europe and Scandinavia. Aspects of the Process of
Integration in the Seventeenth Century (Lund, 1983), 119-34.

°2 H. Rosenberg, Bureaucracy, Aristocracy and Autocracy. The Prussian Experience
1660-1815 (Cambridge, Mass., 1958); W. Bleek, Von der Kameralausbildung zum Ju-
ristenprivileg. Studium, Priifung und Ausbildung der héheren Beamten des allgemeinen
Verwaltungsdienstes in Deutschland im 18. und 19. Jabrbundert (Berlin, 1972); H.-E.
Miller, Bureaucracy, Education, Monopoly. Civil Service Reforms in Prussia and Eng-
land (Berkeley, Calif., 1984); P. Lundgreen, ‘Zur Konstituierung des ‘“‘Bildungsbiirger-
tums”: Berufs- und Bildungsauslese der Akademiker in Preussen’, in Conze and Kocka
(eds.), Bildungsbiirgertum (note 41), 79-108; R. Graf von Westphalen, Akademisches
Privileg und demokratischer Staat. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der bildungspolitischen
Problematik des Laufbahnwesens in Deutschland (Stuttgart, 1979); H. Hattenhauer,
Geschichte des Beamtentums (Cologne, 1980), 96-102. Prussia was, however, not the

573

Willem Frijhoff

scholars like Johann Gottlieb Heineccius (De iure principis circa civium
studia) — a role which was played by Lodovico Antonio Muratori (Della
pubblica felicita, 1749) in Italy, and by Louis-René de Caradeuc de La
Chalotais (Essai sur l’éducation nationale, 1763) in France. The first
professional examination concerned the lawyers entering state service;
introduced by Frederick I in 1693 and generalized in 1737, it received
its final form in 1755. The regulations required a three-stage examin-
ation and intermediate practical training courses. As well as controlling
its lawyers, the Prussian administration aimed at giving a better training
to its public officials (who had to take an entrance examination from
1743 onwards) by offering them, during Minister Hagen’s reforms in
1770, the Kameralwissenschaften (cameralism) path. These administrat-
ive sciences, of which the first chairs were founded at Halle and Frank-
furt-on-Oder in 1727, were normally taught in the faculty of philosophy
(in the faculty of law in Austria and Switzerland), but in certain regions
towards the end of the century they became independent faculties or
chairs (Giessen, 1777, Stuttgart 1781, Mainz 1782). A university edu-
cation was not, however, made obligatory for public officials; an
entrance examination testifying to the educational standard was suf-
ficient. It was precisely the lack of a state examination sanctioning this
career which was one of the causes of the crisis in the system towards
1800. Finally, the members of the liberal professions, lawyers (1709)
and physicians (1718), together with the Lutheran pastors were in their
turn obliged to take similar state examinations.>* In 1723, lawyers and
physicians were, moreover, required to take their degree in one of the
kingdom’s universities. The Prussian administration very quickly under-
stood the advantage of also controlling the level of admission to the
universities, if they wanted to keep a hold on leaver flows. In 1708 an
attempt was made through an Immatrikulationspatent to intervene in
this area, whereas in 1788 the Latin schools were appointed the ordinary
instance for controlling aptitude for university studies.°* The trend
towards a bifurcation in the system reflected in the Prussian solution
casts light on later developments. Alongside the university, a professorial
fortress which even refused, following Humboldt’s idea, to sanction the
Bildung by a final examination, the state introduced a well-structured

first of the German territories to impose such measures; cf. for Bavaria: Prahl, Sozialge-
schichte (note 22), 136-42. For Austria: B. Schimetschek, Der Osterreichische Beamte.
Geschichte und Tradition (Munich, 1984).

°3-H. Hermann, ‘Die ‘“‘Freien Berufe’”. Herkunft, Wandlung und heutiger Inhalt des
Begriffs’, dissertation, Frankfurt-on-Main, 1971, 52-3; Prahl, Sozialgeschichte (note
22), 171-2.

54 Cf. H.-G. Herrlitz, Studium als Standesprivileg. Die Entstehung des Maturitatsproblems
im 18. Jabrhundert (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1973).

374

Graduation and careers

and rigorous system of professional examinations with their own
admission requirements and their practical traineeships.

The major reforms of the Catholic absolutist states of the eighteenth
century were so many examples of the third case: that of the penetration
of the state’s power to the very heart of the universities, which it
reshaped according to its needs. Here, the first thing that comes to mind,
of course, is the gradual construction of a network of teaching insti-
tutions closely linked to the professions by the Russian tsars since the
days of Peter the Great.°’ Nor can the great Austrian reform of Gottfried
van Swieten be forgatten.’® But the most striking example, principally
because of its precocity and the awareness of the prince that he was
effecting the unification of the state through the unification of education,
was the reform of Victor Amadeus II (1675-1730) in Piedmont. It
tackled head-on two types of corporation which had monopolized teach-
ing and admission to careers: the professional colleges for physicians
and lawyers, and the religious orders which dominated theology and the
arts. Having suppressed the former in 1719 and domesticated the others
in 1729, the duke of Savoy managed to create a new system in which
a precise link was established between university courses, academic
degrees and the choice of careers. The new symbiosis between pro-
fessionals and the university was implemented under the control of the
state, which was aiming at a better equilibrium in the choice of careers
and, incidentally, at a certain circulation of the elite. Moreover, new
professions (engineering, architecture, surgery, surveying) could now
bring their training programmes into the university system.’

Fixing the conditions for practising an occupation was in this way
taken from the corporation of erudite teachers and placed in the hands
of the state or professional bodies which had made it their prerogative.
By this double process (state control, professionalization) the degree was
gradually voided of its former corporative sense. Henceforth, it derived
its value from the professional prerequisites defined by external authorit-
ies. However, in those places where pre-professional examinations had
completely replaced it, as in Prussia, it gradually adopted a new mean-
ing, not that of a professional qualification but of a learned qualification.
The way was then free to redefine the degree as the proof of capacity
for the independent practice of a science. This was to be essentially a.

°° J. C. McClelland, Autocrats and Academics. Education, Culture and Society in Tsarist
Russia (Chicago, Ill./London, 1979).

°° E, Wangermann, Aufklarung und staatsbiirgerliche Erziehung. Gottfried van Swieten
als Reformator des Osterreichischen Unterrichtwesens 1781-1791 (Munich, 1978).

°” M. Roggero, II sapere e la virtu. Stato, universita e professioni nel Piemonte tra Sette-
cento ed Ottocento (Turin, 1987); M. Roggero, ‘La politica scolastica nei ducati padani
nel secolo dei Lumi. Realta locali e problemi generali’, in G. P. Brizzi (ed.), I] catechismo
e la grammatica, vol. 1 (Bologna, 1986), 165-94.

375

Willem Frijboff

development of the nineteenth century and it would be coupled with a
redefinition of university concepts and models (Humboldt and his con-
cept of Bildung). But the precursory signs were already present in the
modern age. Hence the multiplication of honoris causa doctorates which
explicitly honoured the learned level of the beneficiaries, or the change,
difficult to document but whose principle seems to be generally accepted,
in the conception of the disputatio inauguralis or the pro gradu thesis.

Originally an erudite exercise on a topic or a text supplied by the
master, the thesis gradually became the proof of the personal erudition
of the candidate, before being transformed in the nineteenth century into
a veritable original summa of research.** As a corollary, a new para-
university profession came into being: the ‘thesis writer’, a ghostwriter
at the service of candidates who were not very gifted, who were lazy or
in too great a hurry.°’ As for students without scientific ambitions, they
were increasingly happy with the simple defence of a few thesis positions
in the course of a disputation without an audience.

This brings us to the problem of the liberal professions which, pre-
cisely because of their independent nature, escaped such control. A
mixed solution was found here: lawyers and physicians were admitted
to the practice of their professions after an examination by their peers.
This examination normally limited itself to the recognition of the degree
duly acquired at a university and of which the bull was presented to the
bar or to a college of physicians.

When the degree was a sine qua non for a post, the poor, not very
gifted or unfortunate student could be tempted to cheat. A distinction
can be made between two types of fraud: the substitution of persons
and fraudulent procedure. It is easy to imagine how frequent fraud was
in pre-photographic societies where identity checks were much more dif-
ficult than today. There were, nevertheless, a few very effective barriers
against cheating. First of all, many universities were small and their stud-
ent catchment areas limited. Generally speaking, the students knew each
other from their secondary education days and the university authorities
were always suspicious of foreigners. Moreover, birth certificates or
study certificates and a passport were often requested and they included
a physical description of the holder. Above all, in a society where honour
was still a central value, the risk of being dishonoured by being found
out was considerable, for the student would then be excluded for life

°8 On the controversial question of the authorship of university dissertations, either exerci-
tii gratia or pro gradu, see: G. Schubart-Fikentscher, Untersuchungen zur Autorschaft
von Dissertationen im Zeitalter der Aufklarung (Berlin, 1970); parts of Brockliss, French
Higher Education, propose on the basis of collections of theses a revision of the tra-
ditional image of the low scientific level of French university teaching.

°° See, for example: L. Dulieu, ‘Un faiseur de thése: le docteur Hugues Gourraigne’, Lan-
guedoc médical, 5 (1963), 3-16.

376

Graduation and careers

from the circle that he wished to join. Finally, for the person who had
enough money to pay for his travels, it was always possible to obtain a
degree with little intellectual effort from a university which specialized
in awarding degrees. So, though fraud was doubtless much more wide-
spread than the sources would have us believe, it very probably con-
cerned primarily those students who were not rich and absolutely needed
a degree to earn their living, such as future physicians and lawyers.
Examples of fraud existed in all countries. However, our intention here
is not so much to present the picturesque as to dismantle the
mechanisms.

Moreover, the colleges of physicians often made sure that new
entrants followed a form of continuous postgraduate teaching if, as in
Milan and other big towns in northern Italy, they did not train and
examine the candidates themselves. It is understandable, then, that the
study of degrees obtained in European universities in modern times is a
delicate subject and should take into account each particular national
situation.

NUMBERS

All in all, university admission (matriculation) registers often seem to be
better preserved than graduate rolls. In any case they have been better
studied. (On matriculation numbers see chapter 7, pp. 297ff.) Can this
be taken as an indication of the self-perception of the universities, more
inward- than outward-looking? An overall estimation of the careers
opened up by the university should take account of the twofold move-
ment of admissions and degrees awarded. The graduates were not
always known, nor were the names of the registered students, and not
all those who matriculated went on to take a degree. At any rate, we
should abandon the study of the individual institution and tackle the
question on a regional or national level. There are several reasons for
this: the universities only rarely absorbed all the potential students in a
given town or region, and even when they did so, degrees were often
sought elsewhere, either in the same country or abroad. So it is not
enough simply to add up: the intellectual biographies need to be reconsti-
tuted or at least the groups need to be reclassified according to regional
or social criteria. A first comparison between registration and graduate
rolls reveals that the numerical relationship between the two was neither
constant nor even identical throughout Europe. There was, first of all,

6° E. Brambilla, ‘Il “‘sistema letterario” di Milano: professioni nobili e professioni borghesi
dall eta spagnola alle riforme teresiane’, in A. De Maddalena, E. Rotteli and G. Barba-
resi (eds.), Economia, istituzioni, cultura in Lombardia nell’eta di Maria Teresa, vol.
i (Bologna, 1982), 79-160.

a7 7

Willem Frijhoff

considerable disparity among the universities in the various European
regions and even among universities in the same region. Grosso modo,
northern and central Europe were less avid for degrees than peripheral
and southern Europe. Between 1550 and 1620, only 5 per cent of Hei-
delberg students took a degree; 566 out of 17,847 (that is 3.2 per cent)
graduated in Frankfurt-on-Oder in the course of the sixteenth century;°*
even in 1750-1800, only 16 per cent of Ingolstadt students took their
degree at the local university, mainly in philosophy and theology. But
in Cambridge, Alcala and Santiago the percentages rose at the end of
the sixteenth century to 50.°* This discrepancy was not due to the choice
of faculty. In the Lutheran universities of Swedish obedience in Abo
(Turku) and Dorpat (Tartu), where philosophy and theology dominated
the curriculum, graduation was extremely rare: 6 per cent of masters of
arts in Abo in the seventeenth century. The Jesuit faculties were charac-
terized, however, by an abundant production of master of arts degrees.
It is true that the degree was not identical in the two cases, despite the
title; the master’s degree in the Catholic countries was propaedeutic, the
magisterium artium liberalium of the Protestants was a high-level degree
in philosophy. To the difference in status of the degree depending on
the region has to be added another difference, that of the function of
the faculties.

Secondly, the relationship between registrations and degrees was not
constant in time (table 9.1).°

In spite of temporary declines, the overall trend was upwards, so lead-
ing towards a closer correspondence between studies and degrees, at
least in those cases where a degree normally concluded a course of stud-
ies. In other words, from one century to another, the number of students
who abandoned their studies half-way through declined continually. Let
us take the well-studied example of the Netherlands. Among the Brabant
students at Orléans, 17 per cent took a degree in law in the fifteenth
century but 28 per cent in the sixteenth.” In the province of Overyssel,
one student in four took a degree in the middle of the seventeenth cen-

*1 Kliesch, Der Einfluss (note 13), 44~5.

°° Cf. Kagan, Students and Society, 178; Pelorson, Letrados (note 1), 104.

°3 Sources: L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Patterns of Attendance at the University of Paris, 1400-
1800’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 11, 490, table 1; Frijhoff, Gradués, 224; Frijhoff,
‘Université et marché’ (note 29), 220; L. Stone, ‘The Size and Composition of the
Oxford Student Body’, in Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, 95; Klinge, Ku-
ningliga Akademien, 463-5; A. Tering, Album academicum der Universitat Dorpat
(Tartu) 1632-1710 (Tallinn, 1984), 83; J. A. H. Bots and W. Frijhoff, ‘De studentenpo-
pulatie van de Franeker academie: een kwantitatief onderzoek (1585-1811)’, in G. Th.
Jensma, F. R. H. Smit and F. Westra (eds.), Universiteit te Franeker 1585-1811
(Leeuwarden, 1985), 68.

H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Brabanders aan de rechtsuniversiteit van Orléans (1444-1546).
Een socio-professionele studie’, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis, 61 (1978), 210.

378

Graduation and careers

Table 9.1 Percentages of students taking a degree

Population 1600 1650 1700 1750 1800
Universities

Paris (MA) 19.4 67.3

Oxford (BA) 35.0 39.0 48.0 54.0 58.0
Franeker 6.0 22.6 40.5 56.8 70.8
Abo 6.3 10.5 15.9
Dorpat 5-7 5.8

Towns/regions

Zutphen (town) 8.4 19.4 32.8 51-4 48.2
Northern Brabant 35.2 40.4 AF 2

Overyssel 2724 35.5 46.9 90.4

tury, one in two a century later. But if we add the pastors who did not
take a degree but did complete their curriculum of studies, the corre-
spondence was virtually perfect. Two collective biographies of students
confirm these facts: in the middle of the seventeenth century the ratio
went from 20 per cent of graduates (Zutphen) to 35 per cent (Northern
Brabant — the difference can be explained by the arts graduates from
Louvain, who were numerous in this Catholic region); in the middle of
the eighteenth century, it was 45 to 50 per cent in both cases.
Moreover, the proportion of graduates varied according to the faculty.
So in Basle, in the eighteenth century, 30 per cent of law students, 50
per cent of arts students and 65 per cent of medical students took a
degree.” There we have an obvious link with career prospects, the
degree being essential for physicians but much less important for legal
and administrative careers. Moreover, the slow but certain change in the
functions of the university can be seen in the distribution of graduates
according to faculty. In Tiibingen, between 1477 and 1534, of the 5,800
students enrolled, 2,891, almost half, obtained a degree: 90 per cent in
arts, 5 per cent in law, 3 per cent in theology, 2 per cent in medicine.®
But at Heidelberg in 1569, the arts were in clear decline; for 39 per cent
of arts graduates, there were 40 per cent who graduated in theology, 17
per cent in law, 4 per cent in medicine. Medicine was still poorly re-
presented but law was beginning an ascendancy which would soon be
noted everywhere in Europe.®’ This was also as true for the Spain of the
letrados as it was for Holland in the Golden Century where, between
1600 and 1700, the number of law graduates increased tenfold. In the

65 Bonjour, Die Universitat Basel (note 16), 278-9.

6 W. Kuhn, Die Studenten der Universitat Tiibingen zwischen 1477 und 1534. Ihr Stu-
dium und thre spdatere Lebensstellung (GOppingen, 1971), 32.

67 Kliesch, Der Einfluss (note 13), 47.

S72

Willem Frijhoff

case of Holland we can see that the trend was circumstantial, for the
relationship between the number of graduates in law and in medicine
(3.5:1 On average) was not constant. Towards the middle of the seven-
teenth century and towards the end of the eighteenth, there was a clear
increase in the number of graduates in medicine. A more detailed analy-
sis shows that the first expansion for medicine was linked to that of the
province of Holland properly, while the second was due to the interior
provinces belatedly making up for lost time.®?

In spite of the still very imperfect state of our knowledge, the trend
seems perfectly clear: it moves from a predominance of the arts (fifteenth
century) to an expansion in theology (sixteenth century), then in law
(sixteenth-seventeenth century) and finally in medicine (eighteenth
century). The Middle Ages was the great period of the arts, and this
continued up to the beginning of the sixteenth century. Then, under the
twofold influence of the rise of the humanities colleges and the impact
of the two Reformations on the ideal of the educated cleric, theology
increased sharply; it was the great discipline of the sixteenth century,
even if for a while it remained closely linked to philosophy from which
it would break away later on. Studies in the arts faculty, even without
a degree, were sufficient for the lower posts in the churches and for most
teaching careers. This explains the persistence of arts and, at the same
time, the low number of degrees in theology, which remained reserved
for the learned members of the religious orders who taught theology,
for professors and high dignitaries of the churches (canons, bishops,
superintendents, etc.).°’ So we witness, alongside the rise of theology, a
certain revaluation of job possibilities for arts graduates. This is well
documented for the students of Prague, where thenceforth an arts degree
no longer led simply to teaching but also towards careers in the church
and the civil service. Nor should it be forgotten that the arts degree
attracted the mercator sapiens who studied because he wanted to learn,
to live a better life and to take better decisions, not to earn his living.”°
Elsewhere, as in England, the arts degree developed into an undergrad-
uate curriculum preparing for advanced studies.

Theology partially replaced arts but it is difficult to get an exact idea
of the relationship between university theology studies and the recruit-

6 Frijhoff, Gradués, 134-7.

° For graduate canons of the early period, see H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Internationalismus
versus Nationalismus an Universitaten um 1500 nach zumeist siidniederlandischen
Quellen’, in F. Seibt and W. Eberhardt (eds.), Europa rsoo. Integrationsprozesse im
Widerstreit: Staaten, Regionen, Personenverbdnde, Christenheit (Stuttgart, 1986), 410.

7° F, Smahel, ‘L’Université de Prague de 1433 4 1622: recrutement géographique, carriéres
et mobilité sociale des étudiants gradués’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 79-84. Mer-
cator sapiens was the title of Caspar Barlaeus’s famous introductory lecture at the inaug-
uration of the Amsterdam Illustrious School on 9 January 1632.

380

Graduation and careers

ment of Catholic and Protestant ministers throughout Europe. Here
again, we come across a variety of cases. In France, and in the Catholic
world in general, the parish priest depended much more on the benefice
system than on any course of training.”’ On the other hand, the regular
cleric more often than not followed his own educational courses if they
did not dominate all or part of the university.” The university had only
a minor role in the training of the clergy; the college and seminar circuits
were at least as important, so perhaps it would be better to evaluate the
situation according to the number of master of arts degrees. For a certain
section of the Catholic clergy, however, a training in theology or canon
law leading to a degree was essential. Those who aspired to high rank
in the church or to a prebend needed a university degree.’’ Generally
speaking, however, the circumstances of vocations for the priesthood
were not often in full harmony with those of degrees in the Catholic
faculties of theology. It is nevertheless a fact that the decrease in the
number of vocations observed virtually everywhere in the eighteenth
century corresponded to a decrease in attendance at the faculties. At
least this was the case in France, because there seems to have been a
marked increase in the number of theology students in Spain towards
the end of the eighteenth century.”

In the Anglican, Lutheran and Calvinist countries, the symbiosis
between university studies and ecclesiastical careers was effected rela-
tively quickly depending on the country, but in the course of the seven-
teenth century the integration of the two seemed to be a fait accompli
everywhere. The unicity of the ministry, the model of the learned pastor
and the scholarships system contributed greatly to this, the scholarship
for the minister’s children often being taken as a supplement to his
salary. Nevertheless, the career expectations thus opened to young

” Cf. D. Julia, ‘Systéme bénéficial et carriéres ecclésiastiques dans la France d’ancien rég-

ime’, in Historiens et sociologues aujourd’hui. Journées d’études annuelles de la Société
francaise de sociologie, Université de Lille I, 14-15 juin 1984 (Paris, 1986), 79-107.

Cf. for the beginning of the period: J. H. Overfield, ‘University Studies and the Clergy
in Pre-Reformation Germany’, in Kittelson and Transue (eds.), Rebirth, Reform and
Resilience (note 30), 254-92; P. Polman, ‘De wetenschappelijke opleiding van den
Noord-Nederlandschen clerus secularis in de XVIe eeuw’, Ons Geestelijk Erf, 8 (1934),
398-417. For a very detailed study of the curriculum of Irish clerics at Paris and Tou-
louse, see L. W.B. Brockliss and P. Ferté, ‘Irish Clerics in France in the Seventeenth and
Eighteenth Centuries: a Statistical Study’, Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, vol.
87, C. no. 9 (Dublin, 1987), 527-72.

73 Cf. P. Loupés, Chapitres et chanoines de Guyenne aux XVIle et XVIIIe siécles (Paris,
1985); Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1), 191-241.

T. Tackett, ‘L’histoire sociale du clergé diocésain dans la France du XVIlle siécle’, Revue
d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 26 (1979), 198-234; IT. Tackett, Priest and Parish
in Eighteenth-Century France (Princeton, N.J., 1976). For Spain: M. Peset and M. F.
Mancebo, ‘La population des universités espagnoles au XVIIle siécle’, in Populations
étudiantes, vol. 1, 197.

381

Willem Frijhoff

students without fortunes fuelled discussions on the possible surplus of
intellectuals on the market. Almost everywhere in the course of the eight-
eenth century, the corps of Protestant pastors developed a defensive atti-
tude towards unrestricted access to theology studies as preparation for
the ministry. The fact is that, as among the Catholics, the model of the
learned pastor was gradually giving way to another model, that of the
public servant pastor (a public servant for divine worship but also for
the state), and it was this very transformation that made the clerics, in
the context of the debate on the surplus of intellectuals, appear to be a
virtual menace to the civil servants already in service. Anthony La Vopa
has shown how, among the poor students in Protestant Prussia, in
response to this debate against a background of pietism and reaction to
the new ideas on talent and merit, a new professional spirit was born
which placed the accent on the Beruf (vocation), taken in a secularized
sense. From then onwards, and as a reaction to the redefinition of their
respective disciplines (philology, theology) by two independent, educated
professions (the professor, the pastor), two new professional ideologies
were constructed which opened the way to the professionalization of
careers in the nineteenth century: the ideology of the Kultur of the col-
lege professor and that of the clerical identity sought in a broader cul-
tural mission to the people, both founded on Bildung, itself a haven of
neo-humanism.” In view of the general increase in enrolment in the
seventeenth century, the faculty of theology’s percentage did not perhaps
diminish in absolute figures, though it certainly did so in relative terms.

In Denmark, for example, theologians represented 40 per cent of the
total number of students in the sixteenth century, falling to 25 per cent
in the seventeenth. The number of new students taking law, however,
increased, with a larger proportion coming from among the commoners.
Sweden followed the same trend shortly afterwards.”° This twofold tend-
ency, the rush towards law and the increase of plebeian students (which
implied the entry of jurists into subordinate posts which the noble jurists
despised) began in the sixteenth century and lasted throughout the seven-
teenth in most European countries, although the starting-point varied
considerably from country to country.” In his Essais (1 22), Montaigne

” A. J. La Vopa, Grace, Talent and Merit. Poor Students, Clerical Careers, and Pro-
fessional Ideology in Eighteenth-Century Germany (Cambridge, 1988).

’© S. Bagge, ‘Nordic Students at Foreign Universities until 1660’, Scandinavian Journal of
History, 9 (1984), 1-29; G. Rystad, ‘The King, the Nobility and the Growth of Bureauc-
racy in 17th-Century Sweden’, in Rystad (ed.), Europe and Scandinavia (note 51), 59-
70; L. Niléhn, ‘Swedish Society and Swedish Students Abroad in the 17th Century’, in
Rystad (ed.), Europe and Scandinavia (note 51), 97-117.

”” Examples of this ‘democratization’: B. Guenée, Tribunaux et gens de justice dans le
bailliage de Senlis a la fin du Moyen Age (vers 1380-vers 1550) (Paris, 1963); E. Fried-
berg, Die Leipziger Juristenfakultat. Ihre Doktoren und ihr Heim (Leipzig, 1909).

382

Graduation and careers

had already spoken ironically of the new caste of jurists as a ‘fourth
estate’ in the kingdom. That France and above all Spain started this
trend was doubtless not due exclusively to the speed with which these
centralized states established their bureaucracy but also to the import-
ance of canon law which was, as it were, a bridge between theology and
civil law. If interest in law seemed to slacken somewhat in the eighteenth
century, this was due to a new division of administrative functions: the
decision-making functions which demanded a high level of education
continued to recruit from among law students (who on the average
always came from a higher social level than students in other faculties),
whereas preparation for subordinate functions was relegated to the arts
faculty (cameralistics for example) or was undertaken outside the univer-
sity. This explains the clear impression that we have of an aristocratiz-
ation of law student circles in the eighteenth century, without even men-
tioning the high rate of self-reproduction of the group.”* Throughout
the whole of this period a close link could be observed between the
faculty and its graduates on the one hand and political circles on the
other, which was as much a cause as a consequence of the recruitment
pattern peculiar to the faculty. This intertwining was the origin of a
certain confusion between the intrinsic value of the degree and its social
value. It was often a mere decoration conferring prestige in the political
arena. In Germany certain law faculties also served as Aktenfakultdten
or Spruchfakultdten giving formal opinions on legal matters; this made
them direct interlocutors of the authorities.” But generally speaking the
opinion of the faculty or of its members was considered authoritative
everywhere. It is not surprising then that we find jurists in the frontline
during periods of political upheaval: during the wars of religion, during
the Fronde in the 1640s in France or during the revolutionary era.*°
Among the jurists the lawyers rapidly stood out because they devel-
oped a marked corporatist sense very early on. The increase in the
number of lawyers was as closely linked to a growing sense of litigation,
the legal proceedings (replacing the old forms of compromise between

”® Cf. Kagan, ‘Law Students and Legal Careers’ (note 12); N. T. Phillipson, ‘The Social
Structure of the Faculty of Advocates in Scotland 1661-1840’, in A. Harding (ed.),
Law-making and Law-makers in British History (London, 1980), 146-56.

” Cf. for example H. Liermann, ‘Die Altdorfer Juristen. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des
Juristenstandes’, in F. Elsener and W. H. Ruoff (eds.), Festschrift Karl Siegfried Bader
(Zurich, 1965), 267-80.

8° Cf. R. Schnur, Die franzdsischen Juristen im konfessionellen Biirgerkrieg des 16.
Jahrhunderts. Ein Beitrag zur Entstehungsgeschichte des modernen Staates (Berlin,
1962); A. Lloyd Moote, The Revolt of the Judges: the Parlement of Paris and the
Fronde, 1643-1652 (Princeton, N.J., 1971); B. Stone, The French Parlements and the
Crisis of the Old Regime (Chapel Hill/London, 1986); M. P. Fitzsimmons, The Parisian
Order of Barristers and the French Revolution (Cambridge, Mass., 1987).

383

Willem Frijhoff

the parties) in society,*' as it was to the widespread increase in interest
in law as a new beacon-discipline for social organization. More deeply
it certainly revealed a process of acculturation to the written culture.
The increase in the number of lawyers did, in fact, last longer in those
countries where the law practised was not taught in the universities, as
was the case in England and in Ireland with their Inns of Court which
trained for the bar where common law was applied, or in those countries
where it took Roman law a certain time to prevail over customary law,
as in the Empire (where Roman law was recognized as Gemein Recht
at the very beginning of our period) and beyond. The curve of the bar
admissions in this respect is clear: in Spain at the Valladolid Cancilleria
the maximum was attained in the last quarter of the sixteenth century,
in England, in the United Provinces and in South Brabant (Southern
Netherlands), in the third quarter of the seventeenth century, in Scotland
around 1700. Everywhere, in Spain, in the United Provinces and as far
as we know in Germany, the number of lawyers admitted to the bar fell
more quickly after this peak than did the number of law students or
graduates. This, of course, posed the problem of job outlets, since the
number of legal posts was not extensible ad infinitum. Legal activity
seems to have diminished considerably when measured by the number
of cases brought before the courts.** In fact, the great days of law as
the omnipurpose solution to social problems were over. A new, more
professional, type of jurist was developing. We can see the precursive
signs of this evolution in the hesitant democratization of recruitment
towards the end of the eighteenth century (for example in Scotland) and
in a swelling tide of critical or normative literature on the lawyer model
and his professional code.

The major fact of the eighteenth century was the boom in medicine.
Without forgetting the professionalization process (to which we shall
return later), this boom also seemed to be linked to the success of the
experimental sciences. Incidentally, it revealed the access of new strata

8! J. Bossy (ed.), Disputes and Settlements. Law and Human Relations in the West
(Cambridge, 1983).

82 W. Prest, The Rise of the Barristers. A Social History of the English Bar 1590-1640
(Oxford, 1986); Phillipson, ‘The Social Structure’ (note 78); Frijhoff, Gradués, 246-
64; and the contributions in W. Prest, Lawyers in Early Modern Europe and America
(London, 1981); F. Ranieri, ‘Vom Stand zum Beruf. Die Professionalisierung des Juris-
tenstandes als Forschungsaufgabe der europdischen Rechtsgeschichte der Neuzeit’, Ius
Commune, 13 (1985), 83-105; English abbreviated version: ‘From Status to Profession:
the Professionalization of Lawyers as a Research Field in Modern European Legal His-
tory’, Journal of Legal History, 10.2 (1989), 180-90.

Cf. the synthetical view on the European evolution by F. Ranieri, ‘Die Tatigkeit des
Reichskammergerichts und seine Inanspruchnahme wahrend des 16. Jahrhunderts’, in B.
Diestelkamp (ed.), Forschungen aus Akten des Reichskammergerichts (Cologne/Vienna,

1984), 41-73.

384

Graduation and careers

of the bourgeoisie to the university world and through the university to
liberal professional circles.** There had been a marked increase in the
number of graduate doctors in Italy and Holland in the halcyon days
of the exact sciences in these countries in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries respectively.** In Holland this boom had led to a very high
density of physicians; around 1675, the Republic of the United Provinces
had one graduate physician for 2,900 inhabitants, one for 1,500 to
2,000 in the towns, a density in all likelihood unequalled elsewhere in
Europe save for the towns on the Mediterranean fringe. After a momen-
tary decline, the rate returned to the same level towards 1800. But from
then onwards we can add the surgeons and obtain a more complete
picture of the penetration of professional medicine. With one physician
or surgeon for every 700 to 800 inhabitants in Holland (one for 1,100
in the entire Batavian Republic) we have a maximum which warrants
our taking contemporary complaints about an over-abundance of doc-
tors seriously.°° These rates match those of southern France, another
region that was over-supplied, but clash with the much lower figures for
the intermediate area: one medical practitioner for 2,700 inhabitants in
northern France.®’ Genérally speaking, rates could vary from one
extreme to the other within a single country, without even mentioning
the voluntary restrictions practised by the colleges of physicians in
London, Paris or other large cities.*® So they appear to be closely linked
to the degree of urbanization of the regions. It is enough to compare
the figures of one graduate physician for 17,000 inhabitants in Savoy
towards 1730 and one for 4,300 in Piedmont in 1750, with the figures
for Holland.®? Or yet again, we can compare the one practitioner
(graduates and surgeons taken together) for 5,000 in Brittany in 1786
with the one for 1,350 in Anjou, a nearby province, dotted with small
towns and large boroughs.”’ In sixteenth-century Spain there were

84 This is particularly the case with the Jews of Germany, cf. M. Richarz, Der Eintritt der
Juden in die akademischen Berufe. Jiidische Studenten und Akademiker in Deutschland
1678-1848 (Tiibingen, 1974). On Jews see further chapter 7, pp. 294-6 and 430.

85 Cf. the numbers of graduates in medicine at Bologna in H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Italian
and Dutch Universities in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, in C. S. Maffioli
and L. C. Palm (eds.), Italian Scientists in the Low Countries in the XVIIth and XVIIIth
Centuries (Amsterdam, 1989), 54; Frijhoff, Gradués, 230-46.

8° W. Frijhoff, ‘Medische beroepen en verzorgingspatroon in de Franse tijd: een
dwarsdoorsnede’, Tijdschrift voor de geschiedenis der geneeskunde, natuurweten-
schappen, wiskunde en techniek, 8 (1985), 92-122.

87 J.-P. Goubert, ‘La médicalisation de la société francaise a la fin de l’ancien régime’,
Francia, 8 (1980), 245-56.

88 See, for example, G. Clark, A History of the Royal College of Physicians of London,
2 vols. (Oxford, 1964-6).

8° Roggero, Il sapere e la virtu (note 57), 112.

°° F. Lebrun, Les Hommes et la mort en Anjou aux 17e et 18e siécles (Paris/The Hague,

1971), 217-35.

385

Willem Frijhoff

virtually no graduate physicians in towns with fewer than 5,000 inhabi-
tants and there were none at all in the countryside. In larger towns,
however, the rate was clearly comparable to that which the Dutch towns
were going to attain several decades later: one graduate physician for
2,000 to 2,500 inhabitants.”’ In the second half of the eighteenth cen-
tury, however, medicine leapt forward at the university. In Piedmont a
ratio of one physician for every four jurists was soon reached.”* There
were spectacular increases in Edinburgh and Glasgow, Montpellier and
Strasburg, Erfurt and Giessen.”* So medicine became the new beacon-
discipline and opened the way to the scientific boom of the nineteenth
century.

SOCIAL FUNCTIONS

The history of the universities had to await the arrival on the scene of
the social sciences with their conceptual baggage in the 1960s to be able
to formulate hypotheses on the link between the university situation and
social demand, or on the changing role and functions of higher education
in society from the rough images of university evolution presented by
enrolment graphs sometimes drawn up a very long time ago.” At least
three of these hypotheses were applied simultaneously to most, not to
say to all, European countries. They were the educational revolution of
the first half of the seventeenth century (see chapter 7) followed by the
social problem posed by an excessive number of graduates (the alienated
intellectuals), the aristocratization of the universities, and the pro-
fessionalization process that the universities and their job outlets experi-
enced throughout the modern age under the vigilant eye and energetic
action of the different states. The quantitative approach orientation of
historical research in the 1960s and 1970s is indubitably responsible for
the fact that the hypothesis which was expressed in the most quantitative
form, that of the educational revolution, received the warmest welcome.
It is the hypothesis of the professionalization of higher education, how-
ever, which has replaced it for some years now. Can the increased
number of university students in the course of the seventeenth century

7! Rodriguez-San Pedro Bezares, La Universidad salmantina (note 9), vol. m, 56-62.

72 —D. Balani, D. Carpanetto and F. Turletti, ‘La popolazione studentesca dell’Universita
di Torino nel Settecento’, Bollettino storico-bibliografico subalpino, 76 (1978), 9-183;
cf. Roggero, Il sapere e la virtu (note 57), 119.

3 E. T. Nauk, ‘Die Zahl der Medizinstudenten deutscher Hochschulen im 14.-18.
Jahrhundert’, Archiv fiir die Geschichte der Medizin und der Naturwissenschaften, 38
(1954), 175-86; Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1), 277, 482-3.

* See for matriculations chapter 7, 297ff. Further: L. Stone, ‘The Educational Revolution
in England 1560-1640’, Past and Present, 28 (1964), 41-80; cf. L. Stone, ‘Literacy and
Education in England’, Past and Present, 42 (1969), 69-139; L. Stone, The Crisis of
the Aristocracy 1558-1641 (Oxford, 1965).

386

Graduation and careers

(see chapter 7) be linked to an increased state need for qualified civil
servants? This is where the ‘aristocratization of the universities’ thesis
takes its place. This involved several convergent factors which together
ensured that the nobility occupied a larger place in the university than
it had in the past. These include the demand for learned councillors by
an increasingly bureaucratic state, the nobility’s demand for knowledge
following a new educational ideal borrowed from Italian humanism, and
competition for a share in power that the nobility was obliged to face
from a wealthier, more cultivated and better qualified bourgeoisie which
was indulging in the large-scale buying of nobiliary honours from sover-
eigns who were always short of money.” It would seem that universities
in the second half of the sixteenth century attracted a larger number of
nobles seeking the knowledge required for state service.”° Furthermore,
this movement lasted well beyond the turn of the century and it has
been possible to show that, throughout the seventeenth century in seven
German universities, one student out of ten was a noble.”” Most of all
the nobles marked the university by a more pronounced influence on a
common, corporative-based lifestyle. They introduced elements which
would inevitably accentuate social divisions: separate enrolment, arms
and blazonry, privileges and insignia of distinction, not to mention
favouritism in the curriculum itself and their haughty refusal to take a
degree.

We should not, however, exaggerate the real impact on the job market
of this nobility in search of high-quality posts from whom the military
nobility dissociated itself simultaneously by the adoption of another
model of education, the Academy of Nobles or Riding Academy, the
Ritterakademie.”® The peregrinatio academica of the scholars, too, soon
found its correspondence in the Kavalierstour.”’ If the imperial, royal

°° On this question see J. H. Hexter, ‘The Education of the Aristocracy in the Renaissance’,

Journal of Modern History, 22 (1950), 1-20, reprinted in J. H. Hexter, Reappraisals

in History (London, 1961), 45-70; H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Adel en universiteiten in

de zestiende eeuw. Humanistisch ideaal of bittere noodzaak?’, Tijdschrift voor geschie-
denis, 93 (1980), 410-32; De Ridder-Symoens, ‘L’aristocratisation des universités’ (note

42); W. Kihlmann, Gelebrtenrepublik und Fiirstenstaat (Tiibingen, 1982).

Cf. the references given above, and further: J. Simon, ‘The Social Origins of Cambridge

Students 1603-1640", Past and Present, 26 (1963), 58-67; Kearney, Scholars and

Gentlemen.

97 R. A. Miiller, Universitat und Adel. Eine soziostrukturelle Studie zur Geschichte der
bayerischen Landesuniversitat Ingolstadt 1472-1648 (Berlin, 1974); R. A. Miiller, ‘Aris-
tokratisierung des Studiums? Bemerkungen zur Adelsfrequenz an siiddeutschen Univer-
sitaten im 17. Jahrhundert’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 10 (1984), 31-46.

°8 J. R. Hale, ‘The Military Education of the Officer Class in Early Modern Europe’, in

C. H. Clough (ed.), Cultural Aspects of the Italian Renaissance (New York, 1976),

440-61; Conrads, Ritterakademien.

H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Die Kavalierstour im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert’, in P. J. Brenner,

Der Reisebericht. Die Entwicklung einer Gattung in der deutschen Literatur

(Frankfurt-on-Main, 1989), 197-223.

387

Willem Frijhoff

and princely councils and the sovereigns’ courts were peopled in the
modern age by noble councillors, these occupied only a small proportion
of the total number of posts available and represented only a small pro-
portion of the student population, save in the English universities which,
once again, proved the exception to the rule. More important than the
penetration of the nobility into the university seemed to be the ever
closer link between the civil service and the noble condition in the seven-
teenth and eighteenth centuries. The noble did not particularly seek the
function but the function created the noble. And to the extent that these
were high-level posts in the administration or in the courts (for example
members of the parliaments in France, the Gebeimrdte or Hofrdte in
Germany), the increasing trend towards ennoblement by office had its
repercussions on university recruitment.'”°

Yet each generalization seems too hasty and demands qualification
for each country concerned. A detailed analysis of the councillors in the
Council of Brabant in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries shows that
the obligation imposed in 1531 on councillors to have a degree in law
in fact only sanctioned an existing state of affairs, even though until
then half of the councillors were nobles. The increasing number of coun-
cillors from the civil service was, however, undeniable. So it was not so
much the condition of noble or bourgeois, nor the university factor
which seemed to be at work, but membership of a milieu versed in
administration or the practice of law, in other words, the family habitus.
The irritation of the nobility can be understood, then, and they were
not slow in reacting.'°’ The same observation is valid for Germany. It
would be an exaggeration to speak of a jurists’ monopoly of the adminis-
tration there from the sixteenth century. The princes’ demand was
greater than the supply and for this reason the nobility was able to
remain strong enough in the councils to be able successfully to oppose
any automatic ennoblement by office. The non-noble graduate council-
lors, however, in many territories, constituted a sort of social stratum,

100 For a critical general outline: J. V. Vives, ‘Estructura administrativa estatal en los siglos
XVI y XVII’, in J. V. Vives, Coyuntura econdmica y reformismo burgués (Barcelona,
1969), 99-141. For two examples: F. Bluche, Les Magistrats du Parlement de Paris
au XVIIle siécle (Paris, 1960); B. Wunder, ‘Die Sozialstruktur der Geheimratskollegien
in den siiddeutschen protestantischen Fiirstentiimern (1660—-1720)’, Vierteljahrsschrift
fiir Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 58 (1971), 145-220.

H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Milieu social, études universitaires et carriére des conseillers
au Conseil de Brabant (1430-1600)’, in G. Asaert, et al. (eds.), Recht en instellingen
in de Oude Nederlanden tijdens de Middeleeuwen en de Nieuwe Tijd. Liber amicorum
Jan Buntinx (Louvain, 1981), 257-301; cf. H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Possibilités de car-
riére et de mobilité sociale des intellectuels universitaires au Moyen Age’, in N. Bulst
and J. P. Genet (eds.), Medieval Lives and the Historian. Studies in Medieval Prosopog-
raphy. Proceedings of the First Interdisciplinary Conference on Medieval Prosopogra-
phy held at Bielefeld, 3-5 December 1982 (Kalamazoo, Mich., 1986), 343-57.

368

Graduation and careers

limited to a small number of interrelated families, midway between the
nobility and the commoners.'°*

It has been pointed out that the growth in the student population and
the social extension of university recruitment in England served above
all to increase the number of ecclesiastics trained at the university, due
to a parallel increase in the number of scholarships. This clientele of
modest origins seemed increasingly marked by a self-recruitment pro-
cess. A sort of hereditary clergy was created with its dynasties of clerics,
so that in the eighteenth century more than a quarter of the students
(half of the non-nobles) was of ecclesiastical origin, as against 3 per cent
towards 1580.’ Alongside this group was a quite different clientele of
a much higher social origin (nobility, gentry) which was satisfied with
an education which was much less professional, more worldly and more
generally cultural. The members of this elite clientele did not take a
degree and returned to their home provinces where, in any case, their
future was assured.'** Numerically, the two clienteles were of compar-
able size. According to this hypothesis, the English university would have
developed later than those in the rest of Europe, where the boom in
theology was the major event of the sixteenth century and where, since
the end of the sixteenth century, law had begun to replace theology as
the dominant discipline, even among the nobles.'* In England, it is true,
law was taught principally in the Inns of Court and these did attract
larger numbers in the period concerned.

The Republic of the United Provinces presented a second case. In this
federation of mini-states, with its decentralized and little-bureaucratized
structure, where both new student and graduate numbers quadrupled in
less than a century in a population which had barely doubled, there was
no reason why the state as such should have encouraged university stud-
ies or the acquisition of a degree. Based on a long-established, urban
cultural dynamism and preceded by the great efforts of humanism to
send children to school, the movement there came from within society.
Its sources were cultural (the expansion of reading and writing) and
social (the development of the liberal professions into learned pro-
fessions, the prestige of the academic title as an equivalent to nobility),

1022 N. Hammerstein, ‘Universitaten — Territorialstaaten — Gelehrte Rate’, in R. Schnur
(ed.), Die Rolle der Juristen bei der Entstehung des modernen Staaten (Berlin, 1986),
718-32.

13 Stone, ‘The Size and Composition’ (note 63), 93.

104 V. Morgan, ‘Approaches to the History of the English Universities in the Sixteenth and
Seventeenth Centuries’, in Klingenstein et al. (eds.), Bildung, Politik und Gesellschaft
(note 14), 138-64.

1 Cf. W. Frijhoff, ‘Universiteit en religie, staat en natie in de zestiende eeuw: een compa-
ratieve benadering’, in W. P. Blockmans and H. Van Nuffel (eds.), Etat et religion aux
XVe et XVIe siécles (Brussels, 1986), 121-41.

389

Willem Frijhoff

but not very political. Nobles were not particularly numerous, much less
so than the sons of merchants or lawyers. Nevertheless, as in England,
the university served first and foremost to create a highly educated Prot-
estant clergy and so to set up in the country a nursery of learning from
which the church could subsequently draw its agents for the Calviniz-
ation of the masses.’°® As in England, this learned clergy was to be the
origin of a veritable explosion of doctrinal quarrels and centrifugal
religious movements in the first half of the seventeenth century, and in
both countries the church would play a key role in political struggles.
The English Revolution of 1640-9 had found its counterpart there in
Prince Maurice’s struggle against the Oldenbarnevelt faction and the
Remonstrants, condemned by the Synod of Dordrecht in 1619.

At the opposite extreme we find Spain. There is no doubt that the
Spanish case supports the hypothesis of an increased demand for civil
servants by the state.'°’ The expansion of the universities there was very
closely linked to a double demand, by both church and state, for highly
trained and intellectually qualified public servants, the letrados. A law
of the Catholic Kings on 6 July 1493 had expressly reserved posts in
the administration and the judicature to those who could demonstrate
that they had behind them ten years of studies in civil or canon law.
Practice was less strict, but a certain level of legal studies was thenceforth
required for a post in the administration. Moreover, the venality of
office, so widespread in Europe, was virtually absent from Spain and
this encouraged careerism and career mobility as well as royal control
over civil service posts.'°® In fact, some thousands of posts in the episco-
pate and in the great chapters, in the audiencias (justice), the corregimi-
entos (territorial administration) and the royal councils (Councils of
State, of Castile, of the Inquisition, of the Indies, of the Revenue Court,
etc.) formed the apex of a hierarchy which should not make us forget
its much wider base.'” The total number of former students in the first
quarter of the eighteenth century has been calculated at a maximum of
50,000 (that is one for every 200 inhabitants, excluding the colonies) of
whom some 10,000 to 20,000 were bachelors of law and 1,000 to 2,000
licentiates or doctors.''° Some of these graduates (the para-letrados) took

% Frijhoff, Gradués, 246-79.

'°? Kagan, Students and Society; R. L. Kagan, ‘Universities in Castile 1500-1810’, in Stone
(ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, 355-405.

8 Cf. K. W. Swart, The Sale of Offices in the Seventeenth Century (The Hague, 1949).

109 Kagan, Students and Society, 109-58; L. Sala Balust, Reales reformas de los antiguos
colegios de Salamanca anteriores a las del reinado de Carlos III (1623-1770)
(Valladolid, 1956); J. A. Maravall, Los hombres de saber o letrados y la formacién
de su conciencia estamental (Madrid, 1967); Pelorson, Letrados (note 1); Rodriguez-
San Pedro Bezares, La Universidad salmantina (note 9), vol. I, 30-44.

0 Pelorson, Letrados (note 1), 117-18.

57°

Graduation and careers

up no profession; the other licentiates and doctors shared the posts at
the top of the hierarchy by following the curricula which started either
in university teaching or in the six colegios mayores in Salamanca, Valla-
dolid and Alcala (without forgetting the Spanish College in Bologna
which had the same privileged status).''' The colegios mayores, reserved
for bachelors and where the commoner students assimilated the style of
life of the nobles who had carried off the scholarships, created powerful
networks of clienteles and friends who monopolized the influential posts
and were to form the human tissue at the basis of the great modern
state that Spain was from the seventeenth century. Below this elite of
former aristocratized colegiales was a great mass of clerics, lawyers and
civil servants, as well as bachelors who had not found a post (the
arrinconados) and of non-graduate subordinate employees, notaries,
clerks of the court, prosecutors, secretaries (the infra-letrados). On an
average, half of the students left the university in the course of their
three-year arts degree studies, then a further half of those who remained
in the course of the four or five years of law.''* The students who did
not persevere up to their baccalaureate were certainly not failures in our
sense of the word. The level to which they could aspire in the adminis-
tration was obviously simply lower. The close interweaving of teaching
and the civil service (with its quest for noble values) that this system
engendered at all levels (students, graduates, professors awaiting a career
in the administration) to a certain extent corrupted the university. It lost
interest in the Castilian world around it and in sciences other than law
and theology. Kagan sees in this evolution of the university one of the
principal reasons for its rapid decline in the eighteenth century, when
available posts became rarer. The drop in the number of students from
the second half of the seventeenth century onwards was, however, due
to other reasons. Once the foundations of the modern state had been
laid and the major institutions of the state established with their gradu-
ate lawyers, the civilian authorities had more need of executives than
of intellectuals knowledgeable in law. They needed subordinate clerks,
secretaries for documents, tax-collectors, ushers, policemen, etc. The
development of military technology towards the end of the seventeenth
century created a demand for technicians and engineers, which did not
concern the universities. The same was true of the colonial adminis-
tration. After the enthusiasm of its beginnings, it was little esteemed in

"1 A. M. Carabias Torres, Colegios mayores: centros de poder, Historia de la Universidad,
Acta Salmanticensia, 46, 3 vols. (Salamanca, 1986); D. De Lario, ‘Mecenazgo de los
colegios mayores en la formaci6n de la burocracia espafiola (siglos XIV—XVIII)’, in M.
Peset (ed.), Universidades espanolas y americanas. Epoca colonial (Valencia, 1987),
277-309.

112 Kagan, Students and Society, 178, figs. 4-5.

391

Willem Frijhoff

Spain. The Dutch Indies administration was run by grasping commercial
employees, whereas in England the colonial administration was the
refuge of the impoverished.

Moreover, the very model of the learned public servant or the erudite
gentleman, which had been behind the first wave of aristocratization of
the universities, began to be criticized. The ideal type of the honest man,
inherited from the Italian Renaissance with its academic model of the
homo universalis, endowed with a genuine culture of his own, was
gradually replaced by the model of the gallant, a product of the mores
of the court, where appearances and fashion were the supreme values.
In spite of the aristocratization process which marked the constantly
renewing strata of all the European bourgeoisies, whether in the admin-
istrative variant (Germany) or the patrician variant (Italy, Low
Countries) or in the French nobility of the robe, this change in the domi-
nant model almost everywhere in Europe produced a new division in
the elite in the upper echelons of society. The aristocracy (with its allies
in office), in its lifestyle, its culture and its prevailing values, kept its
distance from another elite composed of entrepreneurs and traders,
engineers and scientists. If the two elites were still close either personally
or because of the intertmingling of their clienteles or their networks of
influence, they tended, however, to go their own ways culturally and to
follow different educational careers. The aristocracy stayed with its
Latin and the university; the entrepreneurial elite opted for modern lan-
guages and chose professional training.

It is in this sense that we can effectively speak about a re-
aristocratization of the universities in the eighteenth century. This is very
marked in the English universities where more than half the students
from then onwards were of noble birth."'’ But we have seen that the
bifurcation of the elite was part and parcel of the higher education
system from its beginning. This is just as obvious in the absolutist states
where the colleges of nobles flourished once again.'* It can even be
seen in the transformation of a professional school for priests like the
Collegium Germanicum in Rome into a college for noble prelates." It
could be seen, finally, in the shrinking of the student clientele by the
aristocratization taking place in many Germanic and Dutch territories.
When all is said and done, is this not an indication of the definitive

13 Stone, ‘The Size and Composition’ (note 63), 93.

4 Cf. G. P. Brizzi, La formazione della classe dirigente nel Sei-Settecento. I ‘Seminaria
nobilium’ nell’Italia centro-settentrionale (Bologna, 1976); G. P. Brizzi, ‘I Gesuiti e i
seminari per la formazione della classe dirigente’, in G. P. Brizzi and A. M. Matteucci
(eds.), Dall’isola alla citta. I Gesuiti a Bologna (Bologna, 1988), 145-55.

"> P. Schmidt, Das Collegium Germanicum in Rom und die Germaniker. Zur Funktion
eines romischen Auslanderseminars (1552-1914) (Tiibingen, 1984).

392

Graduation and careers

domestication of the nobility, which resigned itself to following the edu-
cational courses laid down by the state?

A final element dominated developments in the eighteenth century.
This is what Marina Roggero dubbed ‘provincialization’ in Italy and
Peset and Mancebo called ‘regionalization’ in Spain, but which could be
found in other regions of Europe. The catchment areas for the great
universities with an international audience shrank and tended to blend
into the hinterland, that is to say the area where they had the monopoly
for degrees or for which they naturally or formally filled the role of
elite-producer. The growth universities, then, were those where the
region itself was prosperous, if not where the civilian authorities applied
a conscious university policy. If they still attracted young students from
afar, these students were much less numerous than in the golden days
of the peregrinatio academica a century or two earlier. However, a suc-
cessful state policy allied with reformed universities adapted to the needs
of a restricted region could sometimes give a fresh boost to studies,
guarantee a new circulation of elites and encourage the flourishing of
new professions, as can been seen from the examples of Pavia and Turin
at the end of the eighteenth century.'’®

THE ALIENATED INTELLECTUALS

There remains the question, a burning question during a large part of
the ancien régime, of the surplus of intellectuals compared to the needs
of society (Uberfiillung). Was the university not just producing parasites
to sponge on the working class? Reflections on the large number of
young people attending university, which obsessed the observers of the
day, need to be corrected by more exact data on the numbers leaving,
which it is almost impossible to establish for entire regions. We can also
rightly wonder whether the coupling of the university admission curve
and career prospects measured on leaving has any meaning for the entire
period under consideration, or even for all countries at one and the same
time. It is nevertheless true that the problem of the surplus intellectuals
featured in all the great debates on the university in the modern age and
sO we must make an attempt to understand the situation.

Over twenty-five years ago, M. H. Curtis, in an article which has
become a classic, raised the problem faced by the seventeenth century
of the social consequences of the disproportion between the number of
candidates for a series of professional positions (measured by the

16 Cf. M. Roggero, ‘Professori e studenti nelle universita tra crisi e riforme’, in Storia
d'Italia. Annali, 4 (Turin, 1981), 1037-81, esp. 1077-81.

393

Willem Frijhoff

number of graduates leaving the universities) and the number of posts
available, which was inevitably less elastic.'’”? Curtis arrived at the con-
clusion that there was a marked increase in the number of alienated
intellectuals who could not find a post up to their expectations and who
sowed dissension during the English civil war. Moreover, the works of
Darnton have revealed a similar category of journalists and scribblers
frustrated in their social ambitions for whom, a century and a half later,
the revolutionary decade served as a scapegoat.'’® No matter how
attractive the hypothesis may be, it conceals a certain number of presup-
positions which would require prior verification. The ‘frustrated intellec-
tuals’ thesis supposes a correspondence between studies, career projects
and posts, somewhat like present-day educational careers and our job
market. It is true that, according to Bourdieu, who quotes appropriately
here the lex insita concept put forward by Leibniz, the habitus which the
student assimilated during his university studies induced him to adapt his
aspirations to the modal trajectory of his social category and hence to
expect from his university degree the average value that others had been
able to get out of it.'’” In other words, when posts became rare, candi-
dates found it hard to scale down their demands. Hence their frustration.

But can we really talk about an intellectual job market under the
ancien régime?'*® For the intellectual professions there was no regular
market in the modern sense of the word, and a minimum of organiz-
ation. The phenomena of saturation or effective openness of the market,
linked to demand, were therefore in all probability seen long after the
event by those concerned — too long after for the course of their univer-
sity education and even of their careers to be rectified. It was precisely
for this reason that in the eighteenth century we see the appearance of
the first professional journals advertising vacancies on a national scale.
An example would be the Boekzaal in the United Provinces. Founded in
1692 by grammar-school teacher Pieter Rabus (1660-1702) as a learned
journal, it was transformed into a professional review in the course of
the century. The liberal nature of certain academic professions consti-
tuted an additional factor of uncertainty. Lawyers and physicians could
live off their professional practice but they were not obliged to do so.
On the contrary, the liberty of the independent professions was con-

"7 M. H. Curtis, ‘The Alienated Intellectuals of Early Stuart England’, Past and Present,

23 (1962), 25-49.

Darnton, ‘The High Enlightenment and the Low-Life’ (note 5); R. Darnton, Bohbéme

littéraire et Révolution. Le monde des livres au XVIIIe siécle (Paris, 1983).

P. Bourdieu, Homo academicus (Paris, 1984), 188-9.

120 Cf. J. Ben-David and A. Zloczower, ‘The Idea of the University and the Academic
Market-place’, Archives européennes de sociologie, 2 (1961), 303-14.

394

Graduation and careers

sidered one of the supreme bourgeois values.'*’ There were many
examples of propertied members of the liberal professions who preferred
to live off their private means, in the otium, devoting themselves to the
service of the city by more or less honorific functions or commissions of
doubtful profitability and only practising their professions sporadically.
Furthermore, are we not too hasty in seeing ambitions as social climbing
when individuals were still too exposed to the vicissitudes of all sorts
of catastrophes and where family strategy, which more often than not
preceded individual plans, was clearly more often aimed at maintaining
a position than improving it?'?? It is significant that sequences of success-
ful social climbing often straddled two or several generations: the son
of the shopkeeper became a pastor, with the help of a scholarship, or
at the most a physician, and it was only after this entrance into the
learned world that his children could aspire to greater things.'*?

It is also a fact that the ‘surplus intellectuals’ thesis (Uberfiillung) is
found so often in the works of writers of the modern age, that we would
not be wrong in talking of the ‘old, old story’. From the Estates General
of 1614 to the Testament politique of Richelieu, there was constant com-
plaint in France of the excessive number of arts graduates who wanted
to avoid paying the taille and who deprived the country of the peasants
and craftsmen that it needed — a subject dear to the mercantilists which
in the next century would be the leitmotif of the cameralists. Since the
picaresque novel Guzman de Alfarache by Mateo Alemdan (1559-1602),
there was talk of the excess of letrados in Spain. In 1655, Magnus de
la Gardie sounded the warning in Sweden of an excess of literati in
the administration. The gazettes of the eighteenth century were full of
exclamations on the topic before making it the major concern of the
German and Austrian cameralists (Sonnenfels, Méser, Michaelis, and so
many others). This new class of civil servants had in fact assumed the
mission of regulating the hierarchy of social positions by controlling the
job market. Consequently, it wanted to curb the unexpected expansion
of the Studiersucht in the productive classes, those of the craftsmen and
peasants and ally the regulatory measures taken by the state to the self-
reproduction of the learned professions.'** To give just one example of

21 Cf. D. Roche, ‘L’intellectuel au travail’, Annales. Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations, 37
(1982), 465-80, reprinted in D. Roche, Les Républicains des Lettres. Gens de culture et
Lumiéres au XVIIIe siécle (Paris, 1988), 225-41.

On this theme, see J. W. Oerlemans, ‘Historische sociale mobiliteit’, Theoretische ge-
schiedenis, 8 (1981), 161-86; J. W. Oerlemans, Sociale ongelijkheid als cultuurhistor-
isch thema (Groningen, 1986).

23 Cf. Frijhoff, Gradués, 194-201; J. A. H. Bots, I. Matthey and M. Meyer, Noordbra-
bantse studenten, 1550-1750 (Tilburg, 1979), 94-7.

Cf. Herrlitz, Studium als Standesprivileg (note 54); R. A. Miiller, ‘Sozialstatus und
Studienchance in Bayern im Zeitalter des Absolutismus’, Historisches Jahrbuch, 95
(1975), 120-41; G. Klingenstein, ‘Akademikeriiberschuss als soziales Problem im auf-

122

124

395

Willem Frijhoff

their discourse, in 1768 one could read in the Dutch gazette De Philo-
sooph, ‘Look at all those muscular fellows changed into pygmies, all
those happy porters transformed into poverty-stricken country pastors,
into starving lawyers, into cramped physicians, into grouchy tutors and
into dejected teachers!’’”* The hygienist and the socio-professional Mal-
thusian discourses here supported each other and begged the university
to adapt its functions, not to gross demand, because the discourse did
expressly recognize the existence of a demand for university education
in the lower classes of society, but to an organizational model reflecting
the ideas of the affluent.

This then appeared to be the nub of the problem. Data are not lacking
to suggest a temporary surplus of candidates for one function or career
or another, but rarely at the very moment that the discourse was pro-
nounced.’”° In the eighteenth century in particular, student numbers
were falling in the very countries where the discourse was most virulent,
in spite of the statistical legitimation that a cameralist like Sonnenfels
endeavoured to give it. In other words, the perception of a possible social
problem was a function of the overall vision of society, which would
like intellectuals well-educated but limited in number. So, faced with the
somewhat mechanistic explanation of the resentment aroused in those
candidates who had failed to find a post, a new vision of the phenom-
enon has been proposed which insists less on the reality of a lack of
sufficient job outlets than on the perception of relations between the
literati and society by contemporaries, and on the professional reconver-
sion strategies of those who could not attain their career expectations
because of the saturation (real or imaginary) of the intellectual job
market; the letrados, of whom there was a surplus in the seventeenth
century, became clerics in the Church, the ecclesiastics, of whom there

geklarten Absolutismus. Bemerkungen tiber eine Rede Joseph von Sonnenfels aus dem
Jahre 1771’, in Klingenstein et al. (eds.), Bildung, Politik und Gesellschaft (note 14),
165-204; F. Quarthal, ‘Offentliche Armut, Akademikerschwemme und Massenarbeits-
losigkeit im Zeitalter des Barock’, in V. Press, E. Reinhard and H. Schwarzmaier (eds.),
Barock am Oberrhein (Karlsruhe, 1985), 153-88; J. Van Horn Melton, Absolutism
and the Eighteenth-Century Origins of Compulsory Schooling in Prussia and Austria
(Cambridge, 1988), 107-44.

De Philosooph, no. 110 (Amsterdam, 1768).

This is not the right place to discuss the interesting thesis of a cyclic movement in the
pattern of attendance of the universities, which could be related to the perception of
the phenomenon of an excess of educated men. Cf. R. C. Schwinges, ‘Immatrikula-
tionsfrequenz und Einzugsbereich der Universitat Giessen 1650-1800. Zur Grundle-
gung einer Sozialgeschichte Giessener Studenten’, in P. Moraw and V. Press (eds.),
Academia Gissensis. Beitrige zur dlteren Giessener Universitatsgeschichte (Marburg,
1982), 247-95; H. Titze, ‘Uberfiillungskrisen in akademischen Karrieren: eine Zyklus-
theorie’, Zeitschrift fiir Padagogik, 27 (1981), 187-224.

125
126

396

Graduation and careers

were too many in the eighteenth century, moved into the teaching
profession.'’

PROFESSIONS AND PROFESSIONALIZATION

This, of course, poses the extremely complex question of the social and
cultural roles of the university in modern times. It raises in fact two
distinct questions, each requiring its own specific analysis. The first,
more general, question concerns the role of the university as a teaching
and training institution. It refers us back to the level of intellectual, social
and cultural qualification that a student could expect from his time at
the university. The second, more precise, concerns the relationship
between the university and the occupation of the students who left it,
their professions, their careers, their intellectual investment in society as
a whole from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century.

Career possibilities for graduates were by definition numerous, and it
can be supposed that the closer the discipline to life in general, the
greater the range offered to them. There is every reason to believe, for
example, that the clear preference for the arts in the Middle Ages, for
theology and philology in the sixteenth century, for law in the seven-
teenth century, and for medicine (which was opening to the exact
sciences) in the eighteenth century, was related to the general status of
these disciplines in the changing taxonomy of the sciences.

The successive dominance of the various university disciplines is a
clear indicator of cultural values. The disciplines were the instruments
of a more general cultural integration of students into a new way of
looking at things. Their success was therefore not necessarily a proof of
interest in a specific discipline but rather of a paradigmatic trend: each
of the disciplines was the ideal introduction to knowledge and mastery
of the world, and the motivated student might just as well choose the
fashionable faculty without having an exact idea of what he wanted to
do afterwards.

It is nevertheless a fact that university teaching always had a concomi-
tant professional aspect. It led, in particular, to a few professions which
were reserved to the holders of a university degree or at least to those
who could provide proof of a period of university studies followed by an
examination. Among these professions, the liberal or learned professions
occupied a special place. ‘Noble’ professions, which could entail certain
advantages (free rights of association, hierarchical position, privileges

?7 Frijhoff, ‘Surplus ou déficit?’ (note 14); R. Chartier, ‘Espace social et imaginaire social:

les intellectuels frustrés au XVIle siécle’, Annales. Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations,
37 (1982), 389-400.

397

Willem Frijhoff

and exemptions) according to the country, were distinguished from
manual jobs by the intellectual character of what they produced. They
were thus close to the old medieval distinction between the liberal arts
and the mechanical arts.'** Moreover, the members of the liberal pro-
fessions were neither salaried nor subject to the corporative system.
Quite the contrary: in practising their profession they were supposed to
show a spirit of service (vocatio) rising above the spirit of gain.'*” Faced
with the negotium, the liberal professions were sensitive to the value of
otium. In the modern age, the lawyer and the physician were everywhere
the recognized representatives of the liberal professions, but the list
could be longer (notaries, solicitors, private teachers), and to a greater or
lesser degree, new professionals such as architects, engineers, surveyors,
artists and sculptors tended to join the group, or at least to form a sub-
group more turned towards technical matters or material creation.'”°

From the educational point of view, the characteristic of the liberal
professions was a twofold installation ritual (degree/admission) which
attested to the recognition, by a peer group, of a professional qualifi-
cation obtained outside its orbit. This installation ritual transformed the
fortuitous practice of law or medicine into an established and protected
employment.'*' To the extent that the professionals who decided on the
qualification remained linked with university disciplines, the liberal pro-
fessions maintained a close link with the university. It was precisely
under the ancien régime that this link between liberal professions and
universities or fine-arts academies became exclusive. From the sixteenth
century, one of the prerequisites for a lawyer’s admission to the bar was
a degree in law from a ‘famous’ university (that is to say, a university
with a good reputation in legal studies). In the seventeenth century, col-
leges of physicians became established in the big towns and arrogated
to themselves the monopoly of admission of physicians on presentation
of their diploma. In the eighteenth century, the first steps were taken to
link architects and artists to specific educational courses.

The idea of ‘professions’ was linked to the concept of ‘professionaliza-
tion’.'°* This term is used in various ways by the university historians of

8 See vol. 1, chapter 1, ‘Themes’.

9 Hermann, ‘Die “‘Freien Berufe” ’ (note 53), 31-56. On the professions see T. Parsons,
‘Professions’, in International Encyclopedia of Social Sciences, vol. xu (New York,
1968), 536-47; C. M. Cipolla, ‘The Professions: the Long View’, Journal of European
History, 2 (1973), 37-52; P. Macry, ‘I professionisti. Note su tipologie e funzioni’,
QOuaderni storici, 48 (1981), 922-43.

130 Cf. W. Prest (ed.), The Professions in Early Modern England (Beckenham, 1987).

31 P, Bourdieu, ‘Les rites d’institution’, in P. Bourdieu, Ce que parler veut dire. L’écono-

mie des échanges linguistiques (Paris, 1982), 121-34.

On professionalization, see in particular R. Bucher and A. Strauss, ‘Professions in Pro-

cess’, American Journal of Sociology, 66 (1961), 325-34; C. Turner and M. N. Hodge,

‘Occupations and Professions’, in J. A. Jackson (ed.), Professions and Professionaliz-

—

132

398

Graduation and careers

the ancien régime. Some use it to indicate the growing attention paid by
the university to the professional, practical aspects of the subjects taught:
pastoral theology, the practice of law, clinical teaching, didactics, etc.
Others use it rather to indicate an increasing polarization of faculties
around specific careers. This ended in the creation of professional
schools in revolutionary France, such as the Medical School, the Law
Schools, the Grandes Ecoles. Their main characteristic was that they
trained for closely defined professions but did so without neglecting the
theoretical approach which distinguished them from purely practical
training courses. Finally, according to a third concept of professionaliz-
ation, which is that of contemporary sociology, university teaching was
part of a range of factors which, together, transformed an ‘occupation’
(trade) into an independent ‘profession’, whose members, associated in
a professional body, themselves regulated the conditions for admission,
the professional prerequisites (including the level of training), the deon-
tological code and the modalities of practice. Normally, this transform-
ation process is situated by sociologists in the course of the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries.'*? However, some historians trace the roots of
the professionalization process back to the modern period, if not to the
Middle Ages. For this reason, and because of the confusion in the use of
the term, it is important for us to specify its scope and its characteristics.

Occupation and profession occupy the same position in the range of
professional activities. The difference between them, for the purpose of
our subject, primarily concerns their status and their relationship to the
training courses.'** Under the ancien régime, the professions of lawyer
and physician, for example, were characterized above all by the fact
that they were non-manual and non-dependent, two aspects which were
legitimized by a social ideology which involved the structure of a society
of orders with its privileged conditions, its concept of free service (for
example, the service that the town physicians were obliged to provide
for the poor) and its aristocratizing values (the otium devoted to study,

ation (Cambridge, 1970), 19-50; D. Riischemeyer, ‘Professionalisierung. Theoretische
Probleme fiir die vergleichende Geschichtsforschung’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 6
(1980), 311-25; C. E. McClelland, ‘Zur Professionalisierung der akademischen Berufe
in Deutschland’, in Conze and Kocka (eds.), Bildungsbiirgertum (note 41), vol. 1,
233-47.

Cf. H. Perkins, The Rise of Professional Society. England since 1880 (London, 1989).
For the evolution of the medical profession, see the classic study by E. Freidson, Pro-
fession of Medicine. A Study of the Sociology of Applied Knowledge (New York,
1972); N. and J. Parry, The Rise of the Medical Profession. A Study of Collective
Social Mobility (London, 1976); P. U. Unschuld, ‘Professionalisierung im Bereich der
Medizin. Entwurf zu einer historisch-anthropologischen Studie’, Saeculum, 25 (1974),
251-76; I. Waddington, ‘Medicine, the Market and Professional Autonomy: Some
Aspects of the Professionalization of Medicine’, in Conze and Kocka (eds.), Bildungs-
birgertum (note 41), vol. 1, 388-416.

133
134

399

Willem Frijhoff

to general culture or to the arts). They have been defined as ‘old pro-
fessions’ which were replaced in the course of the nineteenth century by
‘new professions’, through a process of professionalization introducing
three characteristics typical of the new professional groups. First of all,
the group had a high degree of professional independence: henceforth it
defined its own professional profile, its activities, the areas of its com-
petence and its ethics; at the same time, it tended to eliminate its com-
petitors or integrate them into a professional hierarchy of which it was
the summit; finally, it controlled the group’s educational programmes
and if possible recruitment itself.

Seen from the point of view of the ancien régime, it was not, however,
these characteristics which distinguished the ‘old professions’ from the
‘new professions’, but the replacement of the global ideology of the
social estates, of which the crafts were simply an immutable cog, by that
of the professions which were valorized by their own work: in other
words, by the principle of méritocracy and the desire to work in the
most highly paid part of the medical market. Whilst his colleague of the
ancien régime realized his social status by peaceful membership of a
liberal profession, the new lawyer or physician, after the eighteenth cen-
tury, would have to do so by the performance of a number of remunerat-
ive, legal or medical acts and the continual search for a field of his own
and a single specialization. The public image of the physician illustrates
this contrast beautifully. The physician of the ancien régime was a medi-
cal omnivore whose centres of interest were more philosophical than
medical. From the practical point of view he was no genius; besides, his
practice was virtually in the hands of his clientele, as can be seen in
Moliére’s grandiose satire, Le Malade imaginaire (1673). The contem-
porary (i.e. twentieth-century) physician, however, has a strictly medical
training, and the more specialized he is, the higher his status in the pro-
fessional hierarchy. The most skilful (and the most highly specialized)
surgeons are the most expensive. Finally, it is the physician who decides
the diagnosis and the therapy and who can raise a clientele, not the
opposite.

It would, however, be excessive to believe that professionalization was
entirely a phenomenon of the nineteenth century, even if it is certain that
a qualitative change took place in the course of the century. As far as
the educational aspect itself was concerned, its roots went back into a
much more distant past. But, to avoid adding to the confusion, it would
be better to follow the German historians and make a distinction
between an ancien régime Verberuflichung focused around the concept
of the vocatio, and the Professionalisierung of the nineteenth century.'*

135 Cf. H. Hartmann, ‘Arbeit, Beruf, Profession’, Soziale Welt, 19 (1968), 197-212; W.
Conze, ‘Beruf’, Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, vol. 1 (Stuttgart, 1972), 490-507.

400

Graduation and careers

It is indeed the vocatio which is at the centre of the professionalization,
still inadequately studied, of a teacher’s job under the ancien régime. For
the grammar-school teacher in France and Germany and the primary-
school teacher in Portugal, it has been shown that in the eighteenth cen-
tury teaching became a distinct activity within the clerical function (or
crystallized around a disparate set of ancillary activities) and that teach-
ers formed a corps which would have tended to become independent
had they not been wage-earners. The teaching function increasingly
became less an intermediary stage towards a career (often ecclesiastical)
or a learned occupation than a real job whose representatives constituted
a recognizable social body. This social body found its cohesion, on the
one hand, in a common reference to a corpus of knowledge and know-
how, the ‘educational field’, the scholastic culture, which was considered
the group’s own field of activity, and, on the other hand, in a common
deontological code containing the rules fOr transmission of this culture,
the educational mission which the group considered it had undertaken.
Thus, the teaching profession itself agreed to be bound to a specific train-
ing programme followed by a test, or even a selection, of which the
rules soon appeared. These were the competitive examinations for the
agrégation in the Paris arts faculty (1766), hencefOrth the normal path,
or, as in Germany, the prerequisite of passing a final examination at the
gymnasium (1788).'°*°

The clearest case of an advancing professionalization before the nine-
teenth century was, however, that of the medical professions. Among
the ancien régime faculties, medicine was the one which most explicitly
prepared for a specific professional activity. The degree of closeness
between studies and practice can still be seen in present-day usage, sur-
viving in several countries but inherited from the ancien régime, of giving
the physician the title of graduate (‘doctor’), even if he is only certified,
or, inversely (as in France), of calling only medical graduates ‘doctor’.
Moreover, towards the end of the ancien régime it can be noted that
surgeons, although part of a professional corporation, also called them-
selves ‘doctor’ and usurped something of the prestige of the physician
with a university degree. Usage, here, reflected a socio-cultural evolution.
Toby Gelfand showed that for France it was not the scientific evolution
of the nineteenth century which gave rise to the modern physician, but
a series of social, institutional and educational factors which had been

136 For the university professor, see chapter 5, ‘Teachers’. On the early secondary teaching
profession, see: D. Julia, ‘La naissance’ (note 49); A. Novoa, Le Temps des professeurs.
Analyse socio-historique de la profession enseignante au Portugal (XVIIIe-XXe
siécles), 2 vols. (Lisbon, 1987); J. G. Prinz von Hohenzollern and M. Liedtke (eds.),
Schreiber, Magister, Lehrer. Zur Geschichte und Funktion eines Berufsstandes (Bad
Heilbrunn, 1989).

401

Willem Frijhoff

at work since the eighteenth century.'’’ The rapid change in the social
status of the surgeon, following the revalorization of manual work in
the Age of Enlightenment, led to the victory of the empirical and clinical
approach in medicine. From the end of the eighteenth century, French
physicians, together with their colleagues in the surrounding countries,
massively followed the royal ‘demonstrators’ at the Royal Academy of
Surgery in Paris and in their hundreds attended the clinical teaching at
the hospice of the college of surgery, at the Hétel Dieu (under Pierre
Desault) or at the Charité (under Louis Desbois).'*® And so the physician
and the surgeon drew closer until the two professions were united by
the revolutionaries, in 1794, into one single new medical profession. In
this way theoretical medicine and practical medicine were united in one
and the same person who was trained at a single institution for medical
science, the Medical School.’’? France was not, moreover, the only
country to experience such a trend. Well before the creation of the Royal
Academy of Surgery, the Charité in Berlin (1710) had taken a similar
path and Boerhaave’s Leiden students spread new ways of teaching and
organizing medical treatment almost everywhere; these students were
influential innovators such as Albrecht von Haller at Gottingen, or
Gerard Van Swieten (1700-72) at Vienna in Austria.'*° Starting in 1749,
Van Swieten, Boerhaave’s favourite pupil, but as a Catholic banned from
a Leiden chair, was able to reform medical teaching in Austria, linking
it through a series of examinations to a new organization of the entire
medical profession, including physicians, surgeons and pharmacists.'*’
Towards the middle of the eighteenth century, Edinburgh, followed
by Glasgow, took up the Leiden torch. The Royal College of Physicians
and the university came together in 1729 (in 1794 only in Glasgow) in

137 T. Gelfand, ‘A ‘‘Monarchical Profession”’, in the Old Regime: Surgeons, Ordinary Prac-
titioners, and Medical Professionalization in Eighteenth-Century France’, in G. L.
Geison (ed.), Professions and the French State, 1700-1900 (Philadelphia, Pa., 1984),
149-80. On clinical teaching: M. Foucault, Naissance de la clinique (Paris, 1963; 2nd
edn Paris, 1972); English translation by A. M. Sheridan Smith, The Birth of the Clinic;
an Archeology of Medical Perception (New York, 1975).

W. Frijhoff, ‘Le recrutement étranger de l’Académie Royale de Chirurgie de Paris
(1752-1791): la place des Allemands’, in M. Parisse (ed.), Les Echanges universitaires
franco-allemands du Moyen Age au XXe siécle. Actes du colloque de Gottingen —
Mission historique francaise en Allemagne 3-5 novembre 1988 (Paris, 1991), 73-106;
W. Frijhoff, ‘L’école de chirurgie de Paris et les Pays-Bas: analyse d’un recrutement,
1757-1791, Lias, 17 (1990), 185-239.

L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘L’enseignement médical et la Révolution. Essai de réévaluation’,
Histoire de l’éducation, 42 (1989), 79-110. For the English evolution, cf. I. Loudon,
Medical Care and the General Practitioner 1750-1850 (Oxford, 1986).

H. Schneppen, Niederlandische Universitaten und deutsches Geistesleben von der
Griindung der Universitat Leiden bis ins spate 18. Jahrhundert (Miinster in Westfalen,
1960), 105-16.

41 FE. Lesky and A. Wandruszka (eds.), Gerard van Swieten und seine Zeit (Vienna, 1973).

138

139

140

402

Graduation and careers

the creation of a clinical hospital, the Royal Infirmary, which was the
essential instrument for the development of a new medicine and above
all of a new type of physician who had learned to integrate his practice
with a more theoretical training including chemistry, pharmacy and
botany. There again, the number of diplomas awarded proves a decep-
tive criterion. Whereas, around 1800, Edinburgh could boast some 660
medical students (52 per cent of the university total), the university
awarded only thirty doctorates a year on an average, that is, overall, to
one medical student out of five.'** It was no different in Glasgow, where
towards the end of the century, however, there were as many degrees
awarded in medicine as in all the other faculties together. One expla-
nation of this disproportion lies, as in Paris, in the precursory role of the
surgeons in Scotland, who added medical studies to their own training.
Medical teaching there led still to the ‘old profession’ of a graduate
doctor, but at the same time to a new professional habitus which was
to be one of the bases of the creation of the ‘new professions’ in the
nineteenth century.'*

But we can delve even further into the past. To a certain extent, the
founding in the Middle Ages of faculties of medicine which arbitrarily
restricted the practice of medicine by granting only a limited number of
degrees (to those individuals who it was supposed had assimilated a
corpus of medical knowledge approved by the faculty) in itself consti-
tuted the beginning of the professionalization of the physician’s work.
The institution of the ordinary or privileged physician of the prince or
town (such as the archiater, medico condotto, physicus, médico de
camara, poliater or protomedicus), which was generalized from the four-
teenth to the sixteenth centuries in western Europe, was a second step.
It marked, moreover, the secularization of the profession, definitively
taken out of the hands of the clergy.'** Soon these physicians were
endowed, in the name of the prince or of the town and in the interest of
the community, with the authority to control their peers or rivals — the

4 R. H. Campbell and A. S. Skinner (eds.), The Origins and Nature of the Scottish
Enlightenment (Edinburgh, 1982); R. G. W. Anderson and A. D. C. Simpson (eds.),
The Early Years of the Edinburgh Medical Schools (Edinburgh, 1976); J. B. Morrell,
‘Medicine and Science in the Eighteenth Century’, in G. Donaldson, Four Centuries of
Edinburgh University Life 1583-1983 (Edinburgh, 1983), 38-52.

V. L. and B. Bullough, ‘Intellectual Achievers: a Study of Eighteenth-Century Scotland’,
American Journal of Sociology, 76 (1971), 1048-63; V. L. and B. Bullough, ‘The
Causes of the Scottish Medical Renaissance of the Eighteenth Century’, Bulletin of the
History of Medicine, 45 (1971), 13-28; V. L. Bullough, The Development of Medicine
as a Profession. The Contributions of the Medieval University to Modern Medicine
(New York, 1966).

44 See volume I, p. 372 and P. Delaunay, La Médecine et l’église. Contribution a l’histoire

de l’exercice médical par les clercs (Paris, 1948).

143

403

Willem Frijboff

beginning of the medical hierarchy.'*? During modern times, these two
aspects of the professionalization process continued to develop. First,
generally speaking, in the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth centur-
ies, the doctor of medicine stood out as the paradigmatic figure of medi-
cal competence, but of a quite theoretical competence which deliberately
neglected any clinical aspect. The physician was diametrically opposed
to the surgeon and developed his own ethics and vision of the world,
as can be seen in Thomas Browne’s Religio medici (1642).'*° On the
Mediterranean fringe of Europe (Spain, southern France — Montpellier —
and Italy), however, where, in the Middle Ages, the number of phys-
iclans seems to have been greater than in the north and the distinction
between physician and surgeon more advanced, the trend seems some-
what different; surgeons and physicians drew closer in the sixteenth cen-
tury and shared certain forms of university teaching (anatomy, clinical).
Nevertheless, the authority of the graduate physicians was finally
imposed everywhere.

The instruments of this hegemony were the medical colleges, created
for the defence of professional interests. In the quasi-independent cities
in Italy, Germany or Holland, these associations were veritable authorit-
ies with aristocratic pretensions.'*’ Their territorial competence, nor-
mally local, was sometimes extended to the entire country — as was the
case with the Royal College of Physicians in London (founded in 1518),
not to mention the Castilian Tribunal del protomedicato.'*® The London
College, however, was so parsimonious in recognizing physicians living
outside the capital that, in 1800, 153 of its 179 members lived in London
itself.*? So, doctors of medicine managed to control not only the number
of practising physicians but also their qualifications, either by admission
to degrees, or, more rarely, by a real examination. Advancing the quality
of care, and hence professional competence as their justification, the
graduate doctors extended their role of quality controller and supervisor
to all of the medical professions: surgeons (by imposing an examination
in anatomy and the creation of anatomy theatres for teaching), midwives
and pharmacists. It was in this way that the medical hierarchy took on
its definitive shape between the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In
France, for example, the entire profession was reformed by the royal

145 A. W. Russell (ed.), The Town and State Physician in Europe from the Middle Ages
to the Enlightenment (Wolfenbiittel, 1981). Also: C. M. Cipolla, Public Health and
the Medical Profession in the Renaissance (Cambridge, 1976).

146 Cf. R. S. Gottfried, Doctors and Medicine in Medieval England, 1340-1530 (Princeton,
N.J., 1987).

7 For Italy, see E. Brambilla, ‘Le professioni scientifico-tecniche a Milano e la riforma
dei collegi privilegiati (sec. XVII-1770)’, in G. Barbarisi (ed.), Ideologia e scienza
nell’opere di Paolo Frisi 1728-1784 (Milan, 1987), 347-445.

48 J. T. Lanning, The Royal Protomedicato. The Regulation of the Medical Profession in
the Spanish Empire (Durham, 1985).

1” Clark, Royal College of Physicians (note 88), vol. 1, 738.

404

Graduation and careers

regulations of 1696 and 1707.'*° But the process of assimilating phys-
icians and surgeons was already under way. It can be supposed, though
little is known about the question, that the position of salaried phys-
icians and surgeons in the service of the communities (charitable insti-
tutions, army, navy, colonies), more concerned with expertise than social
considerations, played a major part in accelerating this development. So
it was that, in France again, the formation of the Corps de Santé Naval
(1689) preceded the reform of civilian medicine.’ But another import-
ant factor was the growth of the market economy, which drove patients
to want to buy a rapid drug instead of following the learned lucubrations
and the tedious diets of which the graduate physicians were the cham-
pions. Under this pressure, the intermediary professional types of prac-
titioner (physicians with a surgical training, graduate surgeons) and
mixed teaching increased whilst the introduction of degrees in surgery
was awaited (this had been demanded in Leiden in vain as early as
1599). At the same time the two groups were coming closer socially, by
marriage and their common concern with public health and hygiene,
expressed in the hygienists’ writings and the medical topographies or
before the forum of new learned societies reserved for professionals.’
It was the new profession of obstetrician (a male profession, itself in a
hierarchical position vis-a-vis the midwife) which, first of all, seemed to
fall equally within the competence of physicians and surgeons and so
posed the crucial question of which field it belonged to.'°? Hence at
Amsterdam, the struggle for power between physicians and surgeons
was acted out in 1746 around the question of which of the two groups
was competent to organize the obstetricians’ examinations.

The elements of this development were, consequently, the prelude to
the fusion of the two professions which took place almost everywhere
in the course of the nineteenth century.’’* They showed at the same time

18° Julia and Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 1), 246-9.

51 P, Pluchon (ed.), Histoire des médecins et pharmaciens de marine et des colonies
(Toulouse, 1985), 69-87; A. M. Kerkhoff, Over de geneeskundige verzorging in het
Staatse leger (Nijmegen, 1976).

Cf. for instance T. D. Murphy, ‘The French Medical Profession’s Perception of its
Social Function between 1776 and 1830’, Medical History, 23 (1979), 259-78; H. F.
J. M. van den Eerenbeemt, ‘Arts en sociaal besef in Nederland in historisch perspectief’,
Sociale wetenschappen, 12 (1969), 231-80; J. Brugelmann, Der Blick des Arztes auf
die Krankheit im Alltag, 1779-1850. Medizinische Topographien als Quelle fiir die
Sozialgeschichte das Gesundheitswesens (Cologne, 1982). For a synthetic view of the
evolution in the Netherlands: W. Frijhoff, ‘ ‘“‘Non satis dignitatis ...”” Over de maat-
schappelijke status van geneeskundigen tijdens de Republiek’, Tijdschrift voor geschie-
denis, 96 (1983), 379-406.

J. Gélis, ‘Regard sur Europe médicale des Lumiéres: la collaboration internationale
des accoucheurs et la formation des sages-femmes au XVIlle siécle’, in A. E. Imhof
(ed.), Mensch und Gesundheit in der Geschichte (Husum, 1980), 279-300. Other new
professions would soon create similar problems; cf. J. Goldstein, Console and Classify.
The French Psychiatric Profession in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge, 1988).

4 See further volume m, chapter 13.

152

153

405

Willem Frijhoff

in what way the ‘old medical profession’ was fundamentally different
from the ‘new medical profession’. It was ‘primarily a social rather than
a functional construct’.’®’ It did not seek its legitimacy in expertise but
in recourse to a pre-established hierarchy of sciences linked to a scale of
social values.’°® So it was not astonishing that the old medical profession
covered only very imperfectly the field of medical needs and that an
entire parallel field could be developed: popular medicine, but also an
itinerant profession of specialists (hernia surgeons, dentists, operators),
of empiricists, of folk-healers or quacks.'’’ Ramsey very rightly charac-
terized this old medicine as a ‘diffuse medical network’ as opposed to
the well-defined and clearly hierarchical profession which would be born
in the nineteenth century.'**

CAREERS AND SOCIAL MOBILITY

Doubtless the least-known aspect of the university system is what hap-
pened to students after they had left the university. There does exist, of
course, a large number of local or national studies on particular pro-
fessional categories (councillors, civil servants, physicians, pastors, etc.),
but there are virtually no works which trace the professional future of a
whole cohort of students, including not only the graduates but also those
students who left the university before obtaining a diploma. Only such
an overall picture could give us an idea of the impact of studies on
students’ careers and on the place of the university in professional stra-
tegies. We should not close our eyes to the problems posed by such a
task. Naturally, the archives, which in any case are often deficient or
incomplete, give pride of place to graduates and those who entered
public service, hence to the ‘successful’ students who entered the service
of the communities. The result could easily exaggerate the link between
the university and church or state service. Those whose careers we
cannot reconstruct are to a certain degree the problem element which
allows us to assess the frictions of the system, the extent to which it
‘adheres’ to the ideal formulated by university regulations, professional
standards, or state directives. They include migrants, those who left for

SST. Gelfand, ‘Public Medicine and Medical Careers in France during the Reign of Louis
XV’, in Russell (ed.), The Town and State Physician (note 145), 117.

'S¢ B, Elkeles, ‘Medicus und Medikaster. Zum Konflikt zwischen akademischer und ‘‘empi-
rischer” Medizin im 17. und friihen 18. Jahrhundert’, Medizinhistorisches Journal, 22
(1987), 197-211.

87 F, Lebrun, Se soigner autrefois: médecins, saints et sorciers aux XVIle et XVIIIe siécles
(Paris, 1983); W. F. Bynum and R. Porter (eds.), Medical Fringe and Medical Ortho-
doxy (London, 1987); R. Porter, ‘The Patient’s View. Doing Medical History from
Below’, Theory and Society, 14 (1985), 175-98.

58 M. Ramsey, Professional and Popular Medicine in France 1770-1830 (Cambridge,
1988).

406

Graduation and careers

the colonies, students who returned to trade, crafts or farming, the
‘downgraded’ of all sorts who constitute a fringe of unidentified persons,
almost always numerous, often more than half of the total, and this
makes the results of research based solely on that proportion of students
whose careers could be identified virtually worthless.

It sometimes happens that a rector or a university secretary had noted
down the destiny of a cohort of students, but there again, the gaps are
numerous. One rare source does, however, give us a rough idea of the
subsequent careers of an entire cohort. This is the rolls of two regional
students’ associations in the United Provinces, those of the students of
Gelderland and Overyssel at the University of Leiden (I have taken only
the students of the Overyssel province),'°’ and those of the former stud-
ents of the Leeuwarden college at the Frisian University of Franeker.'©°

Founded on the model of the university nations and then suppressed
by order of the authorities in the third quarter of the seventeenth cen-
tury, these associations existed to provide mutual assistance to terri-
torially reduced groups of students and so the careers of its members
could easily be followed by their secretaries. Here, the percentage of
unknown elements is low. Moreover, for once they give an exact idea of
student mortality, which turns out to be much higher than is generally
thought (6 to 8 per cent of students, usually classed among the
unknown): it is true that the plague years 1656 and 1666 were murder-
ous, but brawls and accidents were also largely responsible. At Dorpat,
the normal! death-rate among students stood at less than 3 per cent, but
in plague years it could rise to 10 per cent.'*’ However, in the eighteenth
century, the influence of those two factors of mortality was lower; the
plague had disappeared and the students had quietened down. As for
the students whose careers are known, it can immediately be seen (table
9.2) that almost half of them went into a legal or administrative career,
a third into teaching or the church, only one student out of twenty into
medicine (but one in five at Basle). Leiden (like Basle) clearly attracted
a clientele with higher social ambitions than that of Franeker or Frank-
furt-on-Oder. Among those who opted for a non-learned career, the
nobility and the army were in first place; they took a sixth of the students
in all. Few students returned to trade, to crafts or to farming; even if we
include the unknowns, the percentage is no higher than a quarter. All in
all, the university comes out of this brief overview as an institution

? ©. Schutte (ed.), De wapenboeken der Gelders-Overijsselse studentenverenigingen
(Zutphen, 1975), 33-85; Cf. W. Frijhoff, ‘Deventer en zijn gemiste universiteit. Het
Athenaeum in de sociaal-culturele geschiedenis van Overijssel’, Overijsselse historische
bijdragen, 97 (1982), 68-9.

160 J. Visser (ed.), Album Collegii studiosorum ex Gymnasio Leovardiensi (1626-1668)
(Franeker, 1985). I have omitted the last years 1664-1668, not very well kept.

61 Tering, Album academicum Dorpat (note 63), 117.

407

Willem Frijhoff

Table 9.2 Careers of some groups of students, sixteenth-seventeenth
centuries (in percentages of the total of the identified careers).

Origin of the students (and university) (percentage)

Overijssel Leeuwarden Breslau
Socio-professional - (Leiden) (Franeker) (Frankfurt) (Basle)
groups 1617-59 1626-63 I 506-1648 1601-3
Nobility, rentiers 12.9 3.8 4.5 19.6
Army officers 4.5 10.9 7 1.8
City magistrates 15.5 1.8 - 2.4
Civil servants 20:7 16.8 8.5 Tia
Barristers 20.0 Dace 18.1 22.6
Medical doctors 5-2 4.1 6.2 19.6
Clergy 15-5 31.9 41.5 TA.2
Teachers 5.8 4.1 15.0 9.5
Crafts, trade = 1.8 3.5 2
Agriculture - 0.6 - _
Total percentage identified 100.0 100.0 100.0 100.0
Total numbers identified 155. 339 260 168
Deceased students 14 a3 ? 3
Unidentified careers (%age) 61 (26.4) 43 (10.4) 339 (56.6) 103 (38.0)

Total 230 415 599 271

Sources: Overijssel and Leeuwarden are calculated on the basis of data in the original
registers; Breslau: G. Kliesch, Der Einfluss der Universitat Frankfurt (Oder) auf die schlesi-
sche Bildungsgeschichte dargestellt an den Breslauer Immatrikulierten von 1506-1648
(Wiirzburg, 1961), 47; Basle: H. G. Wackernagel (ed.) Die Matrikel der Universitat Basel,
1460-1800, vol. 11 (Basle, 1962), 1-26.

which adequately fulfils its role as a seminarium ecclesiae ac reipublicae,
a provider of officials for church and state. The preponderance of law,
typical of the seventeenth century, can be seen very clearly, whereas
theology was still predominant among the population of Breslau. The
liberal professions were everywhere an important, but in no way prepon-
derant, career possibility. The distribution of graduates, who preferred
the liberal professions, would then have given only a very imperfect pic-
ture here; lawyers and physicians were all graduates, as were just over a
half of the regents and public officials and the others not at all.

If it is more difficult to find out about the later careers of students
than about their socio-professional origins (dealt with in chapter 7), it
is even more difficult, for a large population, to couple social origins
and professional future, the only reliable method for measuring social
mobility through studies. Both were known at one and the same time
for under 20 per cent of the 5,947 students listed in the register of Brab-
ant students between 1550 and 1750, which was, nevertheless, based on
a large-scale study.’® An attempt was made for Cambridge by taking a

162 See the computation of this inventory in my review in Annales. Economies, Sociétés,
Civilisations, 36 (1981), 243-46,: Bots, Noordbrabantse studenten (note 123).

408

Graduation and careers

sample from a list of students established some time ago by J. A. Venn,
but the very general results disappoint the historian.'®’ At most, one can
note the unsurprising conclusion that the scholastic results of the stud-
ents from the clergy and the liberal professions were clearly better than
those of the landowning class. The fact is that the two groups were not
looking for the same thing at the university, but one for professional
training and the other for general culture.

In view of the very incomplete state of research, we shall have to make
do here with a few surveys which will serve rather to point out trends
or problems and to suggest lines of research than to sketch out a bal-
anced overall picture for Europe as a whole. Data on socio-professional
origins and later careers are adequate for the University of Abo (Turku),
the only university on the territory of Finland (then under Swedish
administration), although some Finns attended the other universities in
Sweden or in the Baltic countries.'®* Overall, the university helped stud-
ents of lower or upper middle-class origin to enter church or state office.
For the nobility and the higher clergy, it served above all for the repro-
duction of the group and its culture. There was, however, a remarkable °
trend within the public administration. In the seventeenth century, the
university produced members of the lower clergy and schoolmasters in
large numbers, whilst incidentally improving the standards of army offi-
cers. But a marked change can be seen from the beginning of the eight-
eenth century; the attraction of the church was partly transferred to the
state. There was then a sort of secularization of career ambitions, to
the advantage of the state. This was also seen in an increased rate of
reproduction among the nobility, in particular the civil nobility. The
transfer of ambitions from an ecclesiastical career to a civil career corre-
sponded, moreover, to a feeling that there was an overabundance, a
surplus of priests (prdastdverflédet), which towards 1700 plays a role in
pedagogical discussions.

Over a rather later period (1740-1839) which extends beyond the
chronological limits of this volume, Matthew was able to undertake a
comparable study of students at the University of Glasgow.’® His results
are not fundamentally different. Whereas the world of industry and trade
supplied almost half of the students, and farming a further 20 per cent,
towards the end of the eighteenth century it was essentially the church
which garnered the fruit since between 40 per cent and 50 per cent of the
students entered its service. Only 12 per cent moved towards the pro-
ductive world, none to farming occupations. The public administration

163 1H. Jenkins and D. Caradog Jones, ‘Social Class of Cambridge University Alumni of
the 18th and roth Centuries’, The British Journal of Sociology, 1 (1950), 93-116.

164 J. Stromberg, ‘Studenterna’, in Klinge, Kuningliga Akademien, 291-354.

165 W.M. Matthew, ‘The Origins and Occupations of Glasgow Students, 1740-1839’,
Past and Present, 33 (1966), 74-94.

409

Willem Frijhoff

did not seem to be very interested in university graduates (4 per cent).
In an unsurprising conclusion Matthew shows that the church provided
the opportunity of a cultural occupation for the productive classes and
that the learned professions were reproduced mostly through the univer-
sity; the rate was 69 per cent for medicine, 50 per cent for churchmen,
44 per cent for the legal professions.

Detailed study at local level confirms and refines these results. The
church (Lutheran) was thus the opening for 55 per cent of the 339 stud-
ents born between 1521 and 1814 in the small town of Niirtingen
(Wiirttemberg), and teaching for another 17 per cent. But less than a
third were themselves the sons of pastors and barely half of the future
teachers were themselves sons of schoolmasters. It was the same with
future lawyers. Only medical circles renewed themselves. In fact work
possibilities in the church drained the meagre number of civil officials
from the small towns, recruiting mainly from the trading or artisanal
middle classes and among farmers. With 164 parents from the pro-
ductive classes, only one single student returned there as a chemist.’
Here we have a strong suggestion of social mobility through the
university.

Examples such as these of small towns with the surrounding country-
side as their catchment area allow us to make the necessary correction
to the established picture of an ever-greater domination by the state of
university career possibilities. In fact, it was a two-stage movement; first
the lower and middle trading and artisanal middle classes, and then, in
the countryside, the elite of the farmers sent their children into the
church or teaching careers. From then onwards scholars could leave not
only their milieu but also their countryside. They settled in the bigger
towns, the centre of religious, administrative or legal activities, where
they could start another stage in their social mobility, into the liberal
professions or a public office at university level. The countryside gener-
ated intellectuals but did not absorb all of them. In the towns, however,
the intellectuals might be sufficiently numerous to form their own milieu,
favourable to the formation of an intellectual life style and habitus that
would lead to new vocations and an entry into the ruling circles. It has

166 A. Rach, ‘Niirtinger Studenten auf deutschen Hochschulen, 1410-1648. Ein Beitrag
zur Matrikelforschung unter bildungshistorischen und sozialhistorischen Aspekten’,
Informationen zur erziehungs- und bildungshistorischen Forschung, 9 (1978), 117-52.
Similar studies: G. Jaritz, ‘Kleinstadt und Universitatsstudium’, Mitteilungen des
Kremser Stadtarchivs, 17/18 (1978), 105-61; M. Mahr, Bildungs- und Sozialstruktur
der Reichsstadt Schweinfurt (Wiirzburg, 1978); W. Frijhoff, ‘Le role des études univer-
sitaires dans une société locale: la ville de Zutphen en Gueldre du Moyen Age au début
du XIXe siécle. Premier bilan d’une recherche’, in M. Kulczykowski (ed.), Les Etudi-
ants — liens sociaux, culture, moeurs du Moyen-Age jusqu’au XIXe siécle. Veme Session
scientifique internationale, Cracovie 28-30 mai 1987, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu
Jagiellonskiego CML, Prace Historyczne, Z. 93 (Warsaw/Cracow, 1991), 87-114.

410

Graduation and careers

been possible to assess the proportion of independent professionals in
French towns of more than 20,000 habitants at between 5 and 15 per
cent of the active population.'®’ In Holland, in towns of a similar size
(Dordrecht, Leiden, Delft, Haarlem, Rotterdam), in the capitation regis-
ters of 1674, 1715 and 1742 — which, it is true, did not cover the poor
classes — the liberal professions occupied between Io and 20 per cent of
the ratings, with an increase of 50 per cent in the eighteenth century.'®

However, one should not let oneself be dazzled by the urban character
of intellectual milieux. The priest or the pastor was often the only intel-
lectual in a small town or village, but how effective he was! When all is
said and done, it was the pastors who often seemed to be the most
numerous. Hence, in Eastern Friesland (Germany), the ratio of pastors,
lawyers and physicians was 11:6:1, but in this essentially rural region
the clergy peopled the countryside and the lawyers and physicians the
towns.'©? On a larger scale, comparable conclusions can be drawn. It
has been possible to calculate that out of a yearly average of 1,280
English students matriculating at Oxford, Cambridge and the Inns of
Court, 430 were going to take up an ecclesiastical career, against 160
who would go into law and 30 into medicine. The remaining 660 did
not make immediate professional use of their degree and often did not
take a degree at all.'”° The mass of this landowning half and a good part
of the clergy were, however, destined for a rural life, even if they did
maintain close links with the town. In other words, the town was cer-
tainly the instigator of a certain professionalization of studies and
careers and it did lead to a social intermixing or a minimum of social
climbing, but it was far from being the sole object of university
education.

It is, however, worth while taking a closer look at the place of gradu-
ates in urban administrations. Both the search for legal or administrative
qualifications and the prestige of the degree can be seen in the way in
which graduates penetrate the ruling elite of the ancien régime. Research
in this field covers mainly the regencies of the towns in north-west
Europe. It should be stressed that a clear distinction must be made
between, on the one hand, the elective mandates of the political elite
(burgomaster, alderman, town councillor, etc.) whose holders are not
normally administration professionals and, on the other hand, the per-
manent ‘ministerial’ public service officials (syndic, pensionary, secretary,

167 Roche, Le Siécle des Lumiéres, vol. 1, 77-96; vol. 1, 348-74; D. Roche, ‘L’intellectuel
au travail’ (note 121).

168 Calculated from W. F. H. Oldewelt, ‘De beroepsstructuur van de bevolking der Hol-
landsche stemhebbende steden volgens de kohieren van de familiegelden van 1674,
1715 en 1742”, Economisch-historisch jaarboek, 24 (1950), 90-101.

169 J.C. Stracke, 5 Jabrhunderte Arzt und Heilkunst in Ostfriesland (s. l., 1960), 29.

170 Stone, ‘Educational Revolution’ (note 94), 41-80.

4II

Willem Frijhoff

etc.) for whom recruitment procedures often implied a qualification cri-
terion, even if the office was handed down in a family or granted by
patronage. Furthermore, the mere fact of having studied at the univer-
sity, even without taking a degree, was already a distinctive trait.

The intensely urbanized regions were in the lead here. Let us take the
example of the Northern and Southern Netherlands. In the period from
1430 to 1580, 31 per cent of the aldermen in Louvain and 38 per cent
of those in Antwerp had studied at the university. This percentage rose
to 72 per cent for Antwerp in the eighteenth century. In these two cases
it is not possible to make a distinction between those who had simply
been students and those who graduated. It is possible, however, at
Zutphen (Gelderland) where 29 per cent of the aldermen elected between
1500 and 1590 had gone to university (most of them at Cologne), and
two-thirds of them (20 per cent of the total) had taken a degree. In the
seventeenth century, 64 per cent of the aldermen of Zutphen had fol-
lowed a course of studies, in the eighteenth century as many as 80 per
cent, but this was the case for only 48 per cent of those elected to the
revolutionary municipality of 1795. In the seventeenth century, the
number of graduates in the council was still low, 33 per cent, but in the
eighteenth century it rose to 63 per cent (though it should be borne in
mind that the nobler councillors disdained degrees). The generalization
of university studies belongs to the seventeenth century, the heyday of
the law degree to the eighteenth century. An increased need for qualifi-
cations was followed by a search for prestige, for social status sym-
bolized in membership of the demi-noble world of the law graduates.'”
However, in a town like Louvain, where the guilds were still important
in the council, the number of lawyer-councillors remained low, 20 per
cent at the end of the eighteenth century. It was the same for the treasur-
ers, recruited from a lower trading or artisanal milieu.

These proportions applied to all the large and medium-sized towns
in the United Provinces. Around 1675, over half of the councillors in
Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Gouda or Zierikzee were graduates. In the
eighteenth century the proportion of graduates had risen to two-thirds.
Another permanent feature is that graduates in the sixteenth century
were usually arts graduates, sometimes medical graduates, rarely law

7! See for Antwerp and Louvain: H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘De universitaire vorming van
de Brabantse stadsmagistraten en stadsfunktionarissen’, Varia Historica Brabantica,
VI-VII (1978), 22-126; L. van Buyten, ‘Universitaire vorming van Brabantse stedelijke
mandatarissen en functionarissen, 17de-18de eeuw, Antwerpen-Leuven-Diest’, Varia
Historica Brabantica, vi-vil (1978), 135-44. For the Dutch Republic: Frijhoff, Gra-
dués, 187-208; W. Frijhoff, ‘Opleiding en wetenschappelijke belangstelling van het
Nederlandse regentenpatriciaat tijdens de Republiek: uitgangspunten, kenmerken,
ontwikkelingen’, Bulletin Werkgroep Elites, 8 (Leiden, 1987), 6-20.

412

Graduation and careers

graduates. From the beginning of the seventeenth century, the degree in
law became essential because of the academic pilgrimage of the young
patricians in France or in Italy which regularly concluded with a degree
in law. However, there was a very clear difference between towns
according to their size. On the eve of the Revolution, less than a quarter
of the councillors in Dutch towns of fewer than 5,000 inhabitants were
graduates, as against 81 per cent in towns of more than 25,000 inhabi-
tants. Another reversal of the trend can be seen in the fact that the coun-
cillor with a degree in law in the sixteenth century was often a homo
novus in a council still dominated by merchants; two centuries later it
was the non-graduate who was the odd one out.

In the German and Baltic towns things followed virtually the same
patterns.’ But the further east we go, the longer this trend took to
materialize: it came half a century later in north Germany and later still
in the Baltic world. So, in the seventeenth century, Dorpat (Tartu), which
was after all a university town, Pernau (Parnu) and Reval (Tallinn) could
boast only 20 per cent of councillors with university studies. Only Riga,
a great commercial partner of the West, followed the German model
with 50 per cent. Here again, they were rarely graduates.'”’ This regional
differentiation was partly due to the perception that councillors had of
their own function. Councillors in the Netherlands and those in the
Empire’s free towns believed themselves to be invested with sovereignty
and adopted the behaviour of councillors of the prince. In the sixteenth
century, in those places where the business element of the urban
patriciate was ancient and effectively strong, relations with the new uni-
versity graduate councillors were strained. The case of Cologne is
enlightening; there were few graduates in the people’s council of the
great university town right up to the last quarter of the sixteenth century.
Their entry was not without problems and their presence steadied
throughout the seventeenth-eighteenth centuries at around ro to 12 per
cent, a low percentage which bore witness to the city corporation’s old
mistrust of the university which was to be found a little later in Leiden.
Yet, it was more or less partly overcome by the certainty that the experi-

72 ©, Brunner, ‘Souveranitatsproblem und Sozialstruktur in den deutschen Reichsstaddten
der friihen Neuzeit’, Vierteljabrsschrift fiir Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, 50
(1963), 329-60; K. Wriedt, ‘Stadtrat — Biirgertum — Universitat am Beispiel nord-
deutscher Hansestddte’, in B. Moeller, H. Patze and K. Stackmann (eds.), Studien zum
stddtischen Bildungswesen des spdten Mittelalters und der friiben Neuzeit (Gottingen,
1983), 499-523; E. Francois, ‘Stadtische Eliten in Deutschland zwischen 1650 und
1800. Einige Beispiele, Thesen und Fragen’, in H. Schilling and H. Diederiks (eds.),
Birgerliche Eliten in den Niederlanden und in Nordwestdeutschland (Cologne/Vienna,
1985), 65-83.

3 Tering, Album academicum Dorpat (note 63), 111, table 25.

413

Willem Frihoff

ence of the lawyers was henceforth indispensable for good govern-
ment.'”*

The situation was quite different for permanent administrative or legal
officials. From the fifteenth century, all the pensionaries and law officers
in Louvain and Antwerp had a degree in law; the clerks and secretaries
followed the movement at some distance.’” In the United Provinces,
some 80 per cent of the syndics, pensionaries or secretaries of towns
with more than 5,000 inhabitants and all the public prosecutors and law
officers of the sovereign courts in 1775 were law graduates, as were all
the non-noble councillors in the sovereign courts. It should be stressed
that in all these functions we can see dynasties developing a university
tradition and a legal habitus.'”° In fact, a three-stage movement can be
discerned here. In the first stage, the urban councils took into their ser-
vice a highly educated (but salaried) staff which supplied a material legal
competence (juristisch-fachlicher Sachkompetenz).'’’ In a second stage,
starting at the beginning of the seventeenth century, these experts were
increasingly admitted into the urban councils themselves as councillors
and aldermen. Thenceforth they participated on the strength of their
legal competence in the political competence of the decision-makers
(politisch-verantwortlicher Entscheidungskompetenz). In a third stage,
their precise legal competence was diluted in a general culture character-
istic of the ruling classes with their intellectual habitus. So they had
recourse to a new, qualified, salaried class; bureaucrats who were on the
way up in spite of being poorly ‘professionalized’, civil servants in the
present meaning of the term, who arrived on the scene in the eighteenth
century.'”® These civil servants were selected for their competence rather
than for their university curriculum. Thenceforth, the university degree
lost its qualificatory character; it became the alibi of a competence, a
legitimation rather than a proof. It vouched for membership of an intel-
lectual milieu rather than for a specific kind of knowledge.

The main lesson to be learned from this chapter is the acknowledge-
ment of a series of processes which had been at work for a long period
of time and which, by their interplay, radically transformed the univer-
sity and its functions. The secularization of its members and its work

“4 W. Herborn, ‘Der graduierte Ratsherr. Zur Entwicklung einer neuen Elite im K6lner

Rat der friihen Neuzeit’, in Schilling and Diederiks (eds.), Biirgerliche Eliten (note 172),
37-400.

> De Ridder-Symoens, ‘Possibilités de carriére’ (note 101).

"© Frijhoff, Gradués, 201-5.

7 The German terms are those used by Wriedt (note 172). Cf. H. Schilling, ‘Vergleichende
Betrachtungen zur Geschichte der biirgerlichen Eliten in Nordwestdeutschland und in
den Niederlanden’, in Schilling and Diederiks (eds.), Biirgerliche Eliten (note 172),
9-17.

8 Cf., for instance, B. Wunder, Privilegierung und Disziplinierung. Die Entstehung des
Berufsbeamtentums in Bayern und Wiirttemberg (1780-1825) (Munich/Vienna, 1978).

404

Graduation and careers

possibilities, the beginning of a movement from a system of social repro-
duction towards a meritocratic system which places qualifications above
social status, the growing influence of the state and the professional cor-
porations on the definition of curricula and professional prerequisites,
the professionalization of the curricula preparing that of the careers, the
nationalization of study circuits — all these were so many large-scale
processes which increasingly diversified the physiognomy, the role and
the very conscience of the universities in the different countries, even
within a single country. Can we still speak, in 1800, of a European
university?

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bengeser, G. Doktorpromotion in Deutschland. Begriff, Geschichte, gegenwar-
tige Gestalt, Bonn, 1964.

Conze, W. and Kocka, J (eds.) Bildungsbiirgertum im 19. Jahrhundert, vol. 1:
Bildungssystem und Professionalisierung in internationalen Vergleichen,
Stuttgart, 1985.

Frijhoff, W. La Société néerlandaise et ses gradués, 1575-1814. Une recherche
sérielle sur le statut des intellectuels a partir des registres universitaires,
Amsterdam/Maarssen, 1981.

Frijhoff, W. ‘La universidad como espacio de mediaciOon cultural’, Historia de la
Educacion, 5 (1986), 41-60.

Hattenhauer, H. Geschichte des Beamtentums, Cologne, 1980.

Horn, E. Die Disputationen und Promotionen an den deutschen Universitdten,
Leipzig, 1893.

Julia, D., Revel, J. and Chartier, R. (eds.) Les Universités européennes du X Vle
au XVIIIe siécle. Histoire sociale des populations étudiantes, 2 vols., Paris,
1986-9.

Kagan, R. L. Students and Society in Early Modern Spain, Baltimore, Md./
London, 1974.

O’Day, R. Education and Society 1500-1800. The Social Foundations of Edu-
cation in Early Modern Britain, London/New York, 1982.

Pelorson, J.-M. Les ‘Letrados’, juristes castillans sous Philippe II. Recherches
sur leur place dans la société, la culture et l’Etat, Poitiers, s.d. [1980].

Prahl, H.-W. ‘Gesellschaftliche Funktionen von akademischen Abschlussprii-
fungen und Graden (Sozialhistorische und ideologiekritische Untersuchungen
zur akademischen Initiationskultur)’, dissertation, Kiel, 1975.

Ranieri, F. ‘Vom Stand zum Beruf. Die Professionalisierung des Juristenstandes
als Forschungsaufgabe der europdischen Rechtsgeschichte der Neuzeit’, Ius
Commune, 13 (1985), 83-105.

Stone, L. (ed.) The University in Society, 2 vols., Princeton, N.J., 1974.

Verger, J. ‘Les universités a l’@poque moderne’, in G. Mialaret and J. Vial (eds.),
Histoire mondiale de l’éducation, vol. u, Paris, 1981, 247-72.

415

CHAPTER 10

MOBILITY

HILDE DE RIDDER-SYMOENS

HUMANISM AND THE RENAISSANCE

There is a marvelous cleerenesse, or as I may terme it an enlightning of
mans judgement drawne from the commerce of men, and by frequenting
abroad in the world: we are all so contrived and compact in our selves,
that our sight is made shorter by the length of our nose... To conclude,
I would have this worlds-frame to be my schollers choise-booke: so many
strange humours, sundrie sects, varying judgements, diverse opinions, dif-
ferent lawes, and fantasticall customes teach us to judge rightly of ours,
and instruct our judgement to acknowledge his imperfections and natural
weaknesse, which is no easie an apprentiship.’

Montaigne was not the first humanist to praise the educational value
of foreign travel. Contact with other nations and ideologies sharpens
judgement, broadens cultural horizons, and teaches young people how
to use foreign languages.* The German scholar Paul Hentzner notes in
his itinerary (1596-1600) that German students are attracted to the illus-
trious University of Orléans not only by its teaching but also by the
purity of Orléans French: ‘The French spoken in Orléans is so pure that
nowadays ‘“‘Orléans French” means what “‘Atticism”’ used to mean.”* At
Leipzig University the students heard, and learned to speak, pure and
refined German; and in sixteenth-century Italy there were so many Span-
ish scholars in some universities that Italian and Spanish could be

' Quoted from the English translation: Essayes written in French by Michael Lord of
Montaigne... done into English, according to the last French edition by John Florio
(London, 1613), 74-5. Cf. the original in P. Villey (ed.), Les Essais de Michel de Mon-
taigne (Paris, 1965), 157-8.

2 E. Garin, L’Education de l’homme moderne 1400-1600 (Paris, 1968), 190-4.

> A. Babeau, Les Voyageurs en France depuis la Renaissance jusqu’a la Révolution (Paris,
1885; reprint Geneva, 1970), 70.

416

Mobility

learned at the same time. University studies thus acquired a dual pur-
pose: training in humanism as well as training for a profession.

Renaissance teachers looked upon study abroad as the culmination of
the humanist education of young members of the elite. In Renaissance
times wandering students were so strongly attracted by the renown of
teachers like Alciatus and Cujas that they followed them from university
to university; but, as will be shown, this was not what seventeenth-
century students expected from their Grand Tour.

The sixteenth century produced a rich crop of travel guides. Books
entitled Ars apodemica (from the Greek ‘apodémeo’ - to travel),
Methodus apodemia or Methodus de peregrinatione appeared in all
European countries. They differed from their medieval counterparts in
form and purpose: some of course gave necessary practical information
but most of them were mainly concerned with the cultural and intellec-
tual advantages of educational travel (the Bildungsreise).*

Towards 1500 the number of students, especially foreign students, in
European universities increased. The geographical mobility of students
and teachers reached its peak (in absolute terms as well as
proportionately) in the latter half of the sixteenth century and the first
half of the seventeenth century. In this period of prosperity student
migration was encouraged by the new humanist ideas in teaching, which
helped the nobility to cope with the new cultural and intellectual
demands of a fast-changing society, to which the universities also
adapted themselves, but slowly. Universities and university students were
more aristocratic than before.

Humanism gained ground in several universities. Renaissance students
set off filled with sincere enthusiasm in their search for the sources of
knowledge and culture. The iter italicum became essential to any
would-be humanist.> Young Englishmen, Germans, Dutchmen, Scandi-
navians, Spaniards and Portuguese made an intellectual pilgrimage to
those sources of culture embodied in the Italian universities — in Bologna
and Padua, Pavia, Siena and Pisa, and, in smaller numbers, Ferrara and
Perugia. The university programme was wide-ranging, and combined a
sound legal or medical training with courses on classical antiquity. This
first generation of Italianist students introduced the study of Greek to
the countries north of the Alps. Later on in the century the study of

* Introduction to this field with an exhaustive bibliography: J. Stagl, ‘Die Apodemik oder
“Reisekunst”’ als Methodik der Sozialforschung vom Humanismus bis zur Aufklarung’,
in M. Rassem and J. Stagl (eds.), Statistik und Staatsbeschreibung in der Neuzeit vor-
nehmlich im 16.-18. Jahrhundert (Paderborn/Munich/Vienna/Zurich, 1980), 131-204.
See the contributions and further literature in H. A. Obermann and T. A. Brady Jr
(eds.), Itinerarium Italicum. The Profile of the Italian Renaissance in the Mirror of its
European Transformations, Studies in Medieval and Reformation Thought, 14 (Leiden,

1975).

417

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

medicine became so popular that it was the main purpose of travel in
Italy in the seventeenth century.

Ultramontane students of this generation took their studies in Italy
seriously; the long periods of time they spent at Italian studia and the
high proportion of non-Italian graduates in the total number of students
registered are evidence of this. Towards 1500, for example, 50 per cent
of the graduates of the universities of Siena and Pavia were ultramon-
tanes, and in the first half of the sixteenth century so were 28 per cent
at the Universities of Pisa and Florence and 23 per cent at the University
of Ferrara.® Similarly, in all the universities of northern Italy the number
of Italian students is greater but the proportion of Italian graduates
smaller.

The choice of a university does not appear to have been made lightly.
At the Universities of Siena and Ferrara three-quarters of the graduates
were German; then came the Iberians and Dutch. In Pisa and Florence
the main stream of foreign students was Spanish and Portuguese (40 per
cent), followed by Germans (23 per cent) and students from the south
and south-west of France (14 per cent). The nationality of the students
at Pavia University — most of them Germans and natives of Savoy and
the Franche-Comté — shows its close links with the German Empire.
Bologna at that time had a more varied clientele, but, as in all the Italian
universities, few of its graduates were from northern or eastern Europe.
We can truly say that the first decades of the sixteenth century were the
golden age of wandering scholars. Intellectuals and humanists travelled
all over Europe from east to west and north to south, from one centre
of learning to another, attracted by famous professors or other men of
renown. Even universities hitherto of no great repute attracted hundreds
of foreign students such as Louvain (where the College of the Three
Languages and Erasmus attracted students and older men from all parts)

® Calculations are made on the basis of: G. Minnucci, Le lauree dello studio senese alla
fine del secolo XV, Quaderni di ‘Studi Senesi’, 51 (Milan, 1981); G. Minnucci, Le lauree
dello studio senese all’inizio del secolo XVI (1501-1506), Quaderni di ‘Studi Senesi’,
55 (Milan, 1984); G. Minnucci, Le lauree dello studio senese all’inizio del secolo XVI.
II (1507-1514), Quaderni di ‘Studi Senesi’, 58 (Milan, 1985). For the figures see my
review of Minnucci in Tijdschrift voor Rechtsgeschiedenis, 54 (1986), 205; A. Verde,
‘Dottorati a Firenze e a Pisa 1505-1528’, in R. Creytens, P. Kunzle and T. Kaeppeli
(eds.), Xenia médii aevi historiam illustrantia oblata Thomae Kaeppeli O. P. (Rome,
1978), 607-785; G. Pardi, Lo studio di Ferrara nei secoli XV e XVI (Ferrara, 1903),
208; P. Vaccari, Storia della Universita di Pavia, 2nd edn (Pavia, 1957), 74-5; E. Picot,
‘Les étudiants de langue frangaise a l’universita de Pavie du XIVe au XVI siécle’, Bulletin
historique et philologique du Comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques (1917),
71-83; A. Sottili, “Tunc floruit Alamannorum natio: Doktorate deutscher Studenten in
Pavia in der zweiten Halfte des 15. Jhs’, in W. Reinhard (ed.), Humanismus im
Bildungswesen des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts (Weinheim, 1984), 25-44; A. Sottili, ‘Le
contestate elizioni rettorali di Paul van Baenst e Johannes van Dalberg all’Universita di
Pavia’, Humanistica Lovaniensia, 31 (1982), 29-75.

418

Mobility

and Valence and Bourges, where the fame of Cujas drew many students.
The universities of the Empire felt the need to adapt themselves to the
new standards of scholarship, especially in law since the acceptance of
Roman law in their country, but they had no time to adapt themselves
before the great crisis that threw the whole of Europe, and particularly
the Holy Roman Empire, into turmoil.’

This peregrinatio generally followed standard itineraries. Preparatory
studies in arts were usually done in the country of origin. Thereafter the
student went to France and thence to Italy, following one of two routes:
Paris, Orléans, Bourges, Montpellier, Dole, or Paris, Dole, Strasburg,
Basle. Students from central or eastern Europe often went directly to
Italy without visiting France.

The growing interest in natural sciences in the sixteenth century is
revealed in the choice of studies. A diploma in law meant a successful
career, and the study of literature and natural science formed the ‘univer-
sal man’ of the Renaissance. Thus several disciplines were combined,
particularly in the second humanist period® at the end of the sixteenth
and beginning of the seventeenth centuries. It was not uncommon for
students in search of the best teachers to study at three, four and even
eight universities; and an Italian doctorate in medicine or law, or a
degree in medicine from Montpellier, enhanced the holder’s prestige —
and even at that time his career prospects — in his native land.

THE REFORMATION AND COUNTER-REFORMATION

This pattern of student mobility was shattered and remoulded towards
the mid-sixteenth century by the Reformation and Counter-
Reformation, which besides changing the confessional character of uni-
versities profoundly affected the choice of universities and disciplines.
The adage cujus regio, eius et religio (let each country follow its ruler’s
religion) applied to most universities. Rulers passed legislation pro-
hibiting study abroad in an attempt to keep the students within their
own frontiers. The argument was always the same: foreign universities
were a source of religious and political contamination, and student

” See note 6 and H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Italian and Dutch Universities in the Sixteenth
and Seventeenth Centuries’, in C. S. Maffioli and L. C. Palm (eds.), Italian Scientists in
the Low Countries in the XVIIth and XVIIIth Centuries (Amsterdam, 1989), 31-64;
H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Internationalismus versus Nationalismus an Universitaten um
1500 nach zumeist siidniederlandischen Quellen’, in F. Seibt and W. Eberhardt (eds.),
Europa 1500. Integrationsprozesse im Widerstreit: Staaten, Regionen, PersOnenver-
bande, Christenheit (Stuttgart, 1987), 397-414.

By second humanism I understand mainly the intellectual movement dealing with natu-
ral sciences: the first humanism (end fifteenth-sixteenth century) has more a philological
and literary character.

419

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

emigration inflicted great economic and financial losses on their own
university city. The ambition of each ruler was to have his own ‘con-
trolled’ university in which his officers and clergy could be trained in
his particular religious and political ideas. The most frequent penalty
for breaching the rules was the exclusion from public office.

Footloose students, and people seeking contact with the marvels
offered them by foreign universities, were not at first bothered by these
restrictions, which were not effectively enforced. In those troubled,
unstable, supremely unsafe times there was as yet little bureaucracy.
With the advent of a more stable society at the end of the sixteenth
century or beginning of the seventeenth century this restrictive legislation
began to bear fruit, with far-reaching consequences for the international
character of universities. In several countries, student migration to for-
eign universities was brought to a stop by the ruler. The Habsburgs were
very strict in this matter. Already in 1555 Charles V promulgated a law
requiring from the assessors, nobles and non-nobles, of the Reichskam-
mergericht at least five years of law studies at a university accepted by
the Emperor.’ In 1559 his son, Philip II of Spain, forbade his Spanish
subjects to frequent other studia than the Spanish ones, Coimbra, Rome,
Naples and Bologna (Spanish College).'° As a result of the prohibitory
legislation of Philip II and other Spanish Catholic Habsburgs (1570 fol-
lowed by further harsh legislation), nearly all students from the Southern
Netherlands contented themselves with the tolerated Universities of Lou-
vain, Douai, Dole and Rome, whereas their counterparts from the
Northern Netherlands continued to cross Europe in large numbers."
The two oaths demanded from the students of Siena and Pisa by the
Grand Duke of Tuscany on orthodoxy (1566) and fidelity towards the
Grand Duke (1544, and more urgently 1575), resulted in a considerable
decline in the number of students from the Protestant countries, whereas
the number of Spanish students grew constantly until the twenties of the
seventeenth century. This was made possible for the Spanish students
who were bound by the ordinance of 1559 after the Spanish king had
recognized the validity of the degrees of the University of Pisa in 1585.”

? A. Laufs (ed.), Die Reichskammergerichtsordnung von 1555 (Cologne/Vienna, 1976).

10M. Peset, ‘Universidades espafiolas y universidades europeas’, Ius Commune, 12
(1984), 78.

11 H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘L’évolution quantitative et qualitative de la pérégrination aca-
démique des étudiants néerlandais méridionaux de la Renaissance a l’€poque des Lu-
miéres’, in M. Kulczykowski (ed.), Pérégrinations académiques. IVéme Session scienti-
fique internationale, Cracovie 19-21 mai 1983, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu
Jagiellonskiego DCCCLxx. Prace Historyczne, Z. 88 (Warsaw/Cracow, 1989), 87-97;
Frijhoff, Gradués, passim.

2D. Julia and J. Revel, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études dans la France moderne’, in Popu-
lations étudiantes, vol. ll, 59-60.

420

Mobility

In most other countries the same kind of prohibitive legislation was
promulgated to protect the local university (for example in Poland in
1534, Portugal in 1538, Brandenburg in 1564 and 1610-14, France in
1603 and 1629). In many countries (for example in Sweden, Bavaria
and Austria) the results were only temporary or partial. As late as 1798
Tsar Paul I forbade his students to study outside Russia.’’

It is therefore obvious that the division of western and central Europe
into three religious groups — Catholic, Lutheran and Reformed - com-
pletely changed the pattern of student migration.'* There were hence-
forth three kinds of university: the Protestant universities, many of them
proselytizing, active in training clergymen (Wittenberg, Heidelberg,
Geneva and Strasburg, for example); secondly, the Catholic universities
of the Counter-Reformation, also proselytizing, and dedicated to educat-
ing competent clergy (in this the Jesuits played a leading part). The
studia of Paris, Louvain, Ingolstadt, Vienna, Graz, Wiirzburg, Cologne,
Pont-a-Mousson, Dole and others, as well as the Iberian universities, are
of this kind. The third group comprises several universities that con-
sciously adopted a tolerant attitude, and did not willingly refuse students
who were not of their religion: for instance, Padua and Siena, Orléans
and Montpellier, all of them Catholic universities, or Leiden and the
other Dutch universities, model Calvinist universities though they were.
The existence of these three types explains the pattern of student
migration in modern times. Several defined paths in the peregrinatio aca-
demica emerged as a result.

PROTESTANT UNIVERSITIES

The Reformation brought immense popularity to the universities of the
German Empire, until then neglected by the students of other countries.
Starting with Wittenberg in 1536 or thereabouts, many studia were

3 Julia, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 12), 59-60; H. Hattenhauer, Geschichte des
Beamtentums (Cologne, 1980), 49-57, 72-3; R. Kohler, ‘Bildung und Konfession. Zum
Studium der Studenten aus den habsburgischen Landern an Hochschulen im Reich
(1560-1620)’, in G. Klingenstein, H. Lutz and G. Stourzh (eds.), Bildung, Politik und
Gesellschaft. Studien zur Geschichte des europdischen Bildungswesens vom 16. bis zum
20. Jahrhundert, Wiener Beitrage zur Geschichte der Neuzeit, 5 (Vienna, 1978), 111,
with tables; S. Géransson, De Svenska studieresorna och den religidésa kontrollen fran
Reformationstiden till Fribetstiden, Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis, 8 (Uppsala/Wies-
baden, 1951).

D. Julia, ‘Frontiéres étatiques, clivages confessionnels et cloisonnements intellectuels
dans l'Europe des XVIe-XVlle siécles’, in J. P. Genet and B. Vincent (eds.), Etat et
église dans la genése de |’Etat moderne. Colloque organisé par le Centre national de la
recherche scientifique et la Casa de Velazquez, Madrid, 30 novembre et ter décembre
1984 (Madrid, 1986), 79-80.

421

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

converted to the Protestant faith and new Reformist universities were
founded.

Anyone of the reformed faith wanting a humanist education in litera-
ture and theology now thought first of the universities of the Empire.
Northern, central and eastern Europe were evangelized largely by alumni
of Wittenberg, and to a lesser extent of Leipzig. Students came to
Lutheran universities from the four corners of the Holy Roman Empire,
and indeed from the whole of Europe — from the British Isles, the north-
ern countries, Spain and Italy, and all the countries of eastern Europe
including Russia; there were even a few students from Dalmatia,
Croatia, Slavonia and Turkey. In Leipzig, in the mid-sixteenth century,
one-third of all registered students were foreigners, not all of them from
the eastern or northern hinterland.”

Any analysis of foreign students at European universities must bear
in mind the geographical location of the universities. Studia on the per-
iphery of their country are in a special position, as their catchment area
is the hinterland beyond their national frontiers. Thus Jena attracted
large numbers of Austrian Protestants, Russians, German-speaking
Poles, Hungarians, Bohemians and Moravians. The Universities of Ros-
tock, Greifswald and KG6nigsberg recruited their students in the Baltic
and Frisian countries. In Cologne and Strasburg at the other end of the
Empire there were large numbers of Dutchmen, Frenchmen, and natives
of the Franche-Comté or Switzerland. Salamanca University could
almost be classed as a Portuguese studium because so many of its stud-
ents came from neighbouring Portugal.

Like Wittenberg, the Universities of Heidelberg and Geneva were
active in training Calvinist clergy. Nearly two-fifths of all the students
registered in Heidelberg around 1600 were foreigners, and many of its
students also studied at Strasburg, Basle and Geneva.’® Foreign students
at these Calvinist universities came mainly from Switzerland, France and
the Netherlands, and to a lesser extent from the British Isles, Spain, Italy
and northern and eastern Europe. Natives of Bohemia and Hungary

SR. A. Miiller, ‘Sozialstatus und Studienchance in Bayern im Zeitalter des Absolutismus’,
Historisches Jahrbuch, 9§ (1975), 124-6; Kohler, ‘Bildung und Konfession’ (note 13);
G. Langer, C. Prokert and W. Schmidt, Vom Einzugsbereich der Universitat Wittenberg
(Kartographische Darstellung und Ortsregister), vol. 1: 1502-1648 (Halle/Saale, 1967);
vol. 1: 1649-1815 (Halle/Saale, 1973); M. Drobisch, ‘Beitrage zur Statistik der Universi-
tat Leipzig innerhalb der ersten hundert und vierzig Jahre ihres Bestehens’, Berichte
tiber die Verhandlungen der Koniglich sdchsischen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu
Leipzig, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1848), 60-96.

F, Eulenburg, Die Frequenz der deutschen Universitaten von ihrer Griindung bis zur
Gegenwart, Abhandlungen der philologisch-historischen Klasse der kénigl. sachsischen
Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, xxIv, 2 (Leipzig, 1904), 112. The edition of the
matriculation lists of Basle mentions also the other visited universities: H. G. Wacker-
nagel (ed.), Die Matrikel der Universitat Basel, 1460-1800, 5 vols. (Basle, 1951-75).

422

Mobility

were more numerous in the first Calvinist university (that of Herborn,
founded in 1584) and also in gymnasia illustria such as those of Zerbst
and Bremen.'’ Herborn was popular with Netherlands students because
of the dynastic ties between the young republic and the County of
Nassau.

In the sixteenth century the Protestant universities of other European
countries only occasionally attracted large numbers of students, for
reasons that will be discussed later. At the end of the sixteenth century
the United Provinces became the pole of attraction for the Protestant
intelligentsia. Leiden was indisputably the largest international centre
for seventeenth-century Protestants, so much so that the Encyclopédie
of 1765 stated: ‘Il semble que tous les hommes célébres dans la Répu-
blique des Lettres s’y sont rendus pour la faire fleurir, depuis son établis-
sement jusqu’a nos jours’ (All the famous men of the Republic of Letters
appear to have studied there and made it flourish, ever since its
foundation).'® The teaching of classical and oriental philology, history,
Calvinist theology, Cartesian philosophy, humanist Roman law (the
Elegant School), natural science and medicine flourished there. Other
Dutch universities benefited from its renown, often acting as relay sta-
tions in the iter hollandicum and as universities of graduation (of which
more will be said later). In seventeenth-century Leiden and also for a
short time at the small Frisian University of Franeker, between one-third
and one-half of all the students were foreigners. '’

As in the case of Wittenberg and Leipzig, the reorganization of the
university after the Reformation gave impetus to the internationalization
of the institution. It happened, for instance, with the University of St
Andrews after 1580. As a part of the respublica litteraria it became an
important educational centre for Protestants from beyond the national
boundaries and it occupied a place in the academic itineraries of young
Protestant students in philosophy and theology in the late sixteenth and
first half of the seventeenth century.”°

‘7 N. Hammerstein, ‘Schule, Hochschule und Res Publica Litteraria’, in $. Neumeister and
C. Wiedemann (eds.), Res Publica Litteraria. Die Institutionen der Gelehrsamkeit in
der frithen Neuzeit, Wolfenbiitteler Arbeiten zur Barockforschung, 14 (Wiesbaden,
1987), 93-110.

Quoted by H. Schneppen, Niederlandische Universitaten und deutsches Geistesleben
von der Griindung der Universitat Leiden bis ins spate 18. Jahrhundert (Minster in
Westfalen, 1960), 7.

H. T. Colenbrander, ‘De herkomst der Leidse studenten’, Pallas Leidensis (Leiden,
1925), 273-303, with tables; Frijhoff, Gradués, 380-2.

J. K. Cameron, ‘Some Students from the Netherlands at the University of St Andrews
in the Late Sixteenth and the Early Seventeenth Centuries’, in C. G. F. de Jong and J.
van Sluis (eds.), Gericht Verleden. Kerkhistorische opstellen aangeboden aan prof. dr.
W. Nijenhuis — Essays on Church History Dedicated to Prof. Dr. W. Nijenhuis (Leiden,
1991), 49-72.

423

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

Outside the Dutch Republic only Calvinist academies of university
status such as Strasburg, or Protestant institutions of ancient foundation
such as Heidelberg and Basle, dispensed multi-disciplinary teaching with
fully-fledged faculties of law and medicine, many of the others teaching
only arts and theology. In the Lutheran studia theology and law were
the principal disciplines, with arts being considered as propaedeutic.
Medical faculties were generally ill equipped, so that students went
instead to medical schools in Italy, the United Provinces, or one or two
French studia, such as Montpellier and Paris.”'

CATHOLIC UNIVERSITIES

The religious differences of the sixteenth century brought to the fore
a group of Counter-Reformation universities no less fervent than the
Protestant ones, many of them proselytizing. With the help of the Jesuits
the lay and ecclesiastical authorities very actively reorganized the exist-
ing universities and founded new educational institutions in regions or
countries threatened by heresy, giving first place to the teaching of phil-
osophy and theology. The old universities, those for example of Spain
and Italy, maintained their strong legal and indeed medieval tradition,
the mos italicus. New subjects such as statistics and natural law were
not introduced before the latter half of the seventeenth century, and
many medical faculties were not modernized until the eighteenth cen-
tury. Accordingly many young Catholics seeking modern up-to-date
instruction felt the need to study in ‘heretic’ universities, although this
was against the law. It is, however, a historical fact that, exceptions
apart, the Catholic countries — especially Spain, the Spanish Netherlands,
Poland, and to a lesser extent Bavaria and Austria — were more closed
societies than the Protestant countries, in their higher education as in
other activities.”

The Spanish and Portuguese universities reached the peak of their
fame in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. The Salamanca
school of theology, the Spanish law schools and the school of philosophy
of Coimbra University were of international renown (without, however,
attracting many students from other still Catholic countries). Curiously
enough, even students from the Spanish Netherlands and Sicily did not
go to Spanish universities to study or graduate. The Iberian countries
remained closed and isolated societies until the end of the ancien régime.

1 See for the medical ‘circuit’: Julia, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 12), 73-6.

22 E. Schubert, ‘Zur Typologie gegenreformatorischer Universitatsgriindungen: Jesuiten in
Fulda, Wiirzburg, Ingolstadt und Dillingen’, in Universitat und Gelehrtenstand, 85-
106; Hengst, Jesuiten; P. Baumgart and N. Hammerstein (eds.), Beitraége zu Problemen
deutscher Universitatsgriindungen der friihen Neuzeit, Wolfenbiitteler Forschungen, 4
(Nendeln/Liechtenstein, 1978).

424

Mobility

If immigration by foreign students to the Iberian peninsula and emi-
gration by native students from it became exceptional, there was large-
scale internal migration. The colegios mayores did everything possible
to accept students from anywhere in the peninsula under a system of
proportional geographical distribution. The Spanish College in Bologna
took in the ‘happy few’ who succeeded in leaving their own country.”

In the Spanish Netherlands and in those countries of the Holy Roman
Empire that were still Catholic, the universities took up an uncompro-
mising position. Douai, Louvain, Cologne and Ingolstadt became bas-
tions of the Counter-Reformation. Only 1.5 per cent of all law students
at Ingolstadt were foreigners (most of them Poles) but there was con-
siderable internal migration towards this university. The universities in
Cologne and Freiburg im Breisgau recruited their students mainly in the
neighbouring countries: the Netherlands, Switzerland and Alsace. The
Vienna studium was a comparatively international centre until 1530. It
declined in the sixteenth century, but became important and more open
to foreigners in the seventeenth century, when its students included
Poles, Hungarians, Moravians, Bohemians, and natives of the Southern
Netherlands.**

The Jesuit centres of higher education (such as Dillingen, Graz, Pader-
born, Molsheim, Osnabriick and Bamberg) were of a distinctive kind,
and the Jesuits also left their stamp on the faculties of theology in more
ancient universities such as those of Trier, Mainz, Wiirzburg, Coimbra
and Evora. The Jesuit institutions best known abroad were those of
Graz, Wiirzburg and Dillingen. Their foreign students came mainly from
the Hungarian, Polish and Czech nobility, but the Poles, Czechs and
Hungarians had Jesuit studia in their own country, at Braunsberg, Lem-
berg, Vilnius, Prague (the Clementinum) and Nagyszombat. The creation
of these Jesuit centres for higher education in the seventeenth century
resulted in a decrease in foreign travels. In the short reign of King Sigis-
mund of Poland over Sweden (1592-9), the Polish institutions were fre-
quented by Swedish Catholics. The Swiss Catholics, however, immedi-
ately opted for an institution of their own, the Benedictine University
of Salzburg, founded in 1620, and left the Dillingen studium hitherto
fashionable among them.”°

The Italian universities in the Papal States of Bologna, Rome, Ferrara
and Perugia lost their international clientele, as the requirement of
swearing fidelity (professio fidei) to the Holy Roman Church (1564)

3 Kagan, Students and Society.

4 Maps, graphs and tables: W. Dotzauer, ‘Deutsche in westeuropdischen Hochschul- und
Handelsstadten, vornehmlich in Frankreich, bis zum Ende des alten Reiches. Nation,
Bruderschaft, Landmannschaft’, Geschichtliche Landeskunde, 5 (1969), 89-159; see
further note I1.

25 See note 22.

425

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

prevented Protestant youth from studying there, and certainly from
taking a degree there; henceforth all their foreign students were ultra-
montane Catholics.”°

TOLERANT UNIVERSITIES

Around 1600 the University of Padua had many more students than its
alma mater of Bologna, largely because of its tolerant attitude towards
heterodox students. As the university of the Venetian Republic, it had
avoided compulsory supervision of orthodoxy by a legal fiction, whereby
Protestants were allowed to graduate at a private session before the
Count Palatine in Venice instead of appearing before the bishop at a
formal public session. This prerogative served mainly the interests of
Protestant students in Catholic parts of the Empire, particularly in Italy,
where in most territories taking a degree required an oath on the Cath-
olic faith. It upheld the fiction that not the church but the Emperor
conferred the degrees. Around 1600 a private bull was provided with
the seal of the University of Padua. But after 1613 the Venetian Senate
no longer accepted that, in the Republic of Venice, a degree was awarded
by a foreign sovereign, in casu the German Emperor. Instead they could
graduate ‘auctoritate veneta’, i.e. on the authority of the Senate. For
medical students there existed yet another way of escaping the high costs
of a Paduan degree and the religious control of the Catholic Church:
Catholic Englishmen or Protestant Poles and many other heterodox stu-
dents were allowed to graduate as doctors of medicine in the cheaper
Collegio dei Medici in Venice, which had been given the authority to
grant degrees after subjecting candidates to strict examination. This
instruction in medicine was so popular that students from the British
Isles and Poland had their own nations in Padua at the end of the six-
teenth century. This was not the only advantage offered by the pro-
fessors of Padua to their ultramontane clientele: in 1578 the university
deferred to the wishes of its German nation by introducing a humanist
(more gallico) course in the Pandectes (books of Roman law).’’

The Siena studium changed its tactics to attract ultramontane stud-
ents. In 1596 it opened a hostel for Germans, Netherlanders
(Fiamminghi), Poles and Bohemians, where they could obtain food
cooked according to the fashion of their own country. Doubtless the
university or city was courting popularity among foreigners after its per-
secutions of heretic students in the 1570s and 1580s, which had caused

6 R. L. Kagan, ‘Universities in Italy 1500-1700’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 153-86.

27 R. Palmer, The ‘Studio’ of Venice and its Graduates in the Sixteenth Century (Padua/
Trieste, 1983); L. Giard, ‘Histoire de l’université et histoire du savoir: Padoue (XIVe-
XVle siécles)’, Revue de synthése m1, 120 (1985), 439.

426

Mobility

large numbers of students to leave the studium. With the advent of
religious pacification (around 1590), Protestants and Catholics were
both admitted to Siena, and the Sapienza in Siena became the third most
important Italian university centre for foreigners. The other Italian uni-
versities, at Pisa, Perugia, Ferrara and Pavia, were only halts in the iter
italicum which often ended in Rome as tourism or pilgrimage.** And it
is of course not always easy to determine whether an ultramontane living
in Rome was a diligent student at the Sapienza, or at one of the many
religious or missionary colleges that gave paid hospitality to laymen, or
whether he was a tourist or pilgrim. The same is true of the Paris alma
mater.

At the turn of the sixteenth century the students at Paris University
could hardly be called an international crowd; but any foreigner travel-
ling through France, whether Catholic or Protestant, stayed for a time
in Paris. The intellectual and cultural developments were so great there
that Paris was worth going out of one’s way for; indeed, it was worth
a special journey. In France, as in Italy, it was still possible, even during
the wars of religion, and certainly after the Edict of Nantes had been
signed in 1598, to travel, study and take a university degree whatever
one’s religious persuasion.”’

Whereas the Catholic universities like that of Pont-d-Mousson in Lo-
rraine recruited their students mainly from neighbouring countries, the
Protestant academies such as those at Saumur, Sedan and Orange were
founded to train the French Huguenot clergy. In the seventeenth century
they were included in the Grand Tour, of which more will be said below.
Apart from a few international centres like Orléans, Bourges, Montpel-
lier and Paris, the French universities drew their students only from a
particular regional territory from the latter half of the sixteenth century
onwards. The Orléans studium remained popular with law students
from the Germanic countries until 1688. The revocation of the Edict of
Nantes, and even more importantly the wars of Louis XIV on his eastern
frontiers, emptied the university at Orléans and other centres still
fashionable. The policies and wars of Louis XIV also affected migration
to Montpellier, the Mecca of physicians. The iter gallicum had come to
an end.*°

Two major influences on student mobility have not yet been men-
tioned. The first is that sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Europe
teemed with religious and/or political refugees. The universities are more

8 De Ridder-Symoens, ‘Italian and Dutch Universities’ (note 7).

2? L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Patterns of Attendance at the University of Paris, 1400-1800’, The
Historical Journal, 21 (1978), 503-44, revised version in Populations étudiantes, vol.
Il, 487-526; Julia, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 12), passim.

42/7

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

responsible than is generally believed for the major migratory move-
ments of modern times. Secondly, in modern times a distinction has to
be drawn between universities for training, universities for graduation,
and tourist universities. These different types of university are more
easily recognizable as such throughout the seventeenth century, when
the Grand Tour was fashionable.

THE-UNIVERSITIES AS PLACES OF REFUGE

The wars of religion, the rise of the various Protestant churches, and
the Catholic offensive after the Council of Trent produced crowds of
fugitives who migrated across Europe, looking for people of their own
religion in a country that would offer them safety and work.*’ The chil-
dren of these immigrants studied at the university of their adopted
country. In most cases they gave as their place of origin the country they
had fled and not their adopted country. Other refugees went from one
university to another and one country to another, sometimes for years.
They travelled alone or in groups, according to circumstance.

The Protestants who fled the Low Countries during the revolt against
Spain, or France during the wars of religion in the latter half of the
sixteenth century, or England in the reign of Bloody Mary, and the
Czechs after their defeat at the battle of the White Mountain, found
refuge in the Reformed universities of the Dutch Republic, the Holy
Roman Empire and Switzerland, where they trained to become mission-
aries. Wittenberg, Geneva, Leiden and many other Protestant studia
trained clergy for the newly founded Protestant churches. During the
Thirty Years War many Germans fled to the recently founded or restored
Universities of Uppsala and Dorpat, which had hitherto attracted few
foreigners. Rostock and K6nigsberg were also centres of attraction
because these towns were not embroiled in the war.

Only in this period of instability and religious migration did the
English and Scottish universities attract foreign students in any numbers.
Normally even the Scots preferred continental universities to those of
Oxford and Cambridge, for political reasons. The Dutchman Bilderdijk
(1756-1831) says that one reason why continental students shunned
English and Scottish universities was that they could not understand the
Latin spoken there,*? but obviously this quip does not fully explain their

31 H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘The Place of the University of Douai in the Peregrinatio Aca-
demica Britannica’, in J. Fletcher and H. de Ridder-Symoens (eds.), Lines of Contact
between Great Britain and the Low Countries. Proceedings of the Second Conference
of Belgian, British and Dutch Historians of Universities Held in Oxford, September
1989 (Ghent, 1994), 21-34.

» Frijhoff, Gradués, 91.

428

Mobility

absence. It is impossible to quote exact figures for Oxford and Cam-
bridge because few religious refugees appear in their lists of students or
graduates — the largest refugee colonies were anyway to be found in
London — but the number of continental students at Oxford University
was not more than 1 per cent of all the students. This is not surprising;
in view of the obligation to subscribe to the Thirty-nine Articles of the
Anglican faith, only Englishmen and Anglican Welsh attended the col-
leges of Oxford and Cambridge, where English dissenters, Irish, Scots
and Continentals were only rarely accepted as students or fellows. Until
the end of the ancien régime their number did not exceed 1 per cent,
except fOr the Irish at the end of the eighteenth century, whose numbers
reached between 2 and 5 per cent.*?

The young Catholic expatriates expelled or emigrating from the Brit-
ish Isles, the Northern Netherlands, parts of the Empire, the Scandinav-
ian countries and Switzerland were given a well-organized welcome, par-
ticularly by the Jesuits. Special colleges were founded in the universities
to accommodate and educate the young refugees and train them to
reconvert their countries. Louvain, Douai, Paris, Salamanca, Rome and
Cologne became educational centres for Scots, English, Irish, Dutch and
Germans. Their reception was organized on an international scale. Thus
Catholics from the British Isles usually began their quest for education
in Louvain or Douai, where they were admitted to special colleges. From
here several of them were sent to Paris, or to Salamanca where they
were housed at the Irish College (now the Colegio Fonseca). The most
gifted and zealous of them ended their wanderings in Rome, where they
were admitted to one of the many training colleges for priests and
missionaries, of which the most important were the Collegium German-
icum et Hungaricum (1552), the Collegium Romanum (1553) and the
Collegium Urbanum (1627). Also, nearly every religious order had its
studium generale in Rome, where its most gifted members received high-
quality training.**

The last important wave of refugees under the ancien régime came
after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, following which
tens of thousands of Huguenots left France and found asylum in Prot-
estant countries. They appear in the registers of Dutch universities as ‘ob

33. T. H. Aston, G. D. Duncan and T. A. R. Evans, ‘The Medieval Alumni of the University
of Cambridge’, Past and Present, 86 (1980), 9-86.; T. H. Aston, ‘Oxford’s Medieval
Alumni’, Past and Present, 74 (1977), 3-40; L. Stone, ‘The Size and Composition of
the Oxford Student Body’, in Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, 35-101.
P. Guilday, The English Catholic Refugees on the Continent 1558-1795 (London,
1914), 4-19; L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘The University of Paris and the Maintenance of Cath-
olicism in the British Isles, 1426-1789: a Study in Clerical Recruitment’, in Populations
étudiantes, vol. 1, 577-616 and note 31.

429

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

religionem exul’ (religious exiles) or ‘religionis causa fugitivus’ (religious
fugitives).*°

There were also Greek and Jewish exiles. Well before the fall of Con-
stantinople in 1453 Greek students crossed the Adriatic to study at Ital-
ian universities. Their numbers rose sharply in the latter half of the fif-
teenth century, and the University of Padua became the most frequented
refuge for Greek intellectuals.*°

In the Middle Ages Jews were forbidden to attend a university, and
it was not until the end of the fifteenth century that the popes allowed
Jews to register in Italian medical faculties. Padua became the principal
centre of academic training for European and North African Jews, some
of whom attended the University of Siena. In the Middle Ages most
Spanish and Portuguese Jews preferred to stay in Montpellier, where
they were tolerated; in other universities only converted Jews (Judaei
conversi) were accepted. Jews, Marranos, Moriscos and newly converted
Christians were repeatedly expelled from Spain and Portugal, notably
in 1480-92 and 1609. They sought refuge in whatever country would
accept them and allow and enable them to study. In the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries they settled mainly in the great merchant cities of
France and the Low Countries, particularly Antwerp; in the seventeenth
century Holland became their place of asylum, and the Dutch universit-
ies their centres of study. When the German studia opened their doors
to Jews (the Protestant universities at the end of the seventeenth century
and, more importantly, the Catholic universities in the eighteenth
century) the process of integration flourished, with Jews even being
admitted to the other faculties of arts and law.*” Thus, the universities
that opened their doors to Jewish students as yet unintegrated into Euro-
pean society were, then, those that had already distanced themselves
from the prevailing religious bigotry and intolerance by accepting and
even protecting students of other religious or political persuasions. These
were the Universities of Padua, Siena, Leiden, Franeker, Utrecht,
Montpellier and éven Basle, to quote only those giving courses in medi-
cine. It is no coincidence that these cities or regions should have shown
themselves tolerant in other matters; to take only one example, witch-

3° §. J. Fockema and T. J. Meijer (eds.), Album Studiosorum Academiae Franekerensis
(1585-1811; 1816-1844), vol. 1: Naamlijst der studenten (Franeker, 1968), 240ff.

© A. Vacalopoulos, ‘The Exodus of Scholars from Byzantium in the Fifteenth Century’,
Cahiers d’histoire mondiale, 10 (1966-7), 463-80; G. Fabris, ‘Professori e scolari greci
all’Universita di Padova’, Archivio veneto, ser. v, vols. 59-62 (1942), 121-65.

7 G. Kisch, Die Universitaten und die Juden: eine historische Betrachtung zur Fiinfhun-
dertjahrfeier der Universitat Basel, Philosophie und Geschichte, 77 (Tiibingen, 1961);
S. Kottek, ‘Sur l’ouverture progressive des universités de |’Europe centrale aux étudiants
en médecine juifs au XVIIlIe siécle’, Revue d’histoire de la médecine hébraique, 27
(1974), 113-18; M. Richarz, Der Eintritt der Juden in die akademischen Berufe. Jiidi-
sche Studenten und Akademiker in Deutschland 1678-1848 (Tiibingen, 1974).

430

Mobility

hunters found no hearers in the Dutch Republic, nor in the Republic of
Venice, nor in Antwerp or Basle. The faculties of medicine in Padua,
Leiden and Montpellier and the law faculties of Leiden — and Paris
around 1615-25 — held consultations during which they condemned
implacable witch-hunts and the inhumane procedure of witchcraft
trials.*®

THE GRAND TOUR

Students in 1500 came mainly from the bourgeoisie or gentry. Through-
out the sixteenth century and until about 1600 the sons of the nobility
flocked to the universities. There were few poor students — pauperes —
in the universities of the ancien régime, and although scholarships and
lodgings were still offered to encourage them to prepare for an ecclesias-
tical career at the nearest university, there were certainly no more poor
wandering scholars.*”? One way was nevertheless left open to them, that
of taking part in the fashionable Grand Tour of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries by accompanying a young nobleman as tutor or
governor on his European tour.*° Travellers’ guides and travel accounts
emphasize that the success of a Grand Tour depended on the governor
or tutor. A successful Grand Tour could launch an ambitious and tal-
ented young man of low birth on a career under the patronage of his
pupil’s family, and might enable him to study at a famous university,
or at least to take a degree there. Johannes Fredericus Gronovius (1611-
71) of Hamburg, a fugitive from the horrors of war in his native land,
took service as tutor of Laurence and Steven Gerard, two young men
of a patrician family in Amsterdam. Gronovius hoped to consult manu-
scripts and take a degree in law somewhere in France, but for the two
young men of Amsterdam the Grand Tour had quite another purpose.
Their father hoped it would refine their manners and conduct, and make
them familiar with the leisure pursuits and intellectual range of a noble-
man. Between April 1639 and January 1642 the three young men fol-
lowed the classical itinerary: England, France (where they stayed for
some time at the Riding School at Angers, and at Orléans, where Laurent
Gerard took a doctor’s degree in law). They went on to visit Italy, the
south of Germany and lastly Switzerland.*’

38H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Intellectual and Political Backgrounds of the Witch-Craze in
Europe’, in M. S. Dupont-Bouchat (ed.), La Sorcellerie dans les Anciens Pays-Bas, Hek-
serij in de Nederlanden, Etats et Assemblées — Standen en Landen (Heule/Kortrijk,
1987), 37-64.

°° See chapter 7, pp. 311-12.

“1 P. Dibon and F. Waquet, Johannes Fredericus Gronovius, pélerin de la République des
Lettres: recherches sur le voyage savant au XVIIe siécle (Geneva, 1984).

431

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

The gilded youth of the classical period took quite literally the human-
ist advice to finish their education by travelling in Europe, but gave that
advice a new slant. By 1600 the education of the aristocracy had under-
gone drastic change. Nobles were no longer trained only in chivalry,
but also to study literature and law in preparation for state service and
diplomacy, and higher education conformed to these new requirements.
The universities accommodated themselves to this new kind of student,
repelling competition from the lower classes by reducing material and
financial aid to them and by introducing an elitist atmosphere. Only
universities offering tuition in certain subjects could hope to take in
young aristocrats - members, that is, of the nobility and upper middle
classes and of patrician families in the great towns. The education had
first of all to be in a country in which it was possible to study new
subjects such as mathematics and fortification, political and administrat-
ive systems of government, diplomacy, literature and the plastic arts.
Most of these young trayellers had already prepared for a career at a
local university. Many of them had failed to obtain a degree there, but
this was a matter of complete indifference to them, as several universit-
ies, some of them of high renown, were ready to award them a doctor-
ate, against payment of a fee, and even to issue certificates that they had
previously followed the necessary courses of study. These ‘graduation
universities’ also offered aristocrats opportunities to begin or continue
the study of elegant accomplishments such as riding, fencing, dancing
and conversation in modern languages. There is little evidence — sources
are lacking — that travellers followed private courses of study (known
as privatissima) at teachers’ homes. If such students failed to register at
the university no trace remains of their studies, unless they were regis-
tered in an album amicorum. In the late sixteenth century it became
fashionable to ask colleagues, friends or scholars on the road to write
down something (a poem, quotation, proverb, aphorism or a drawing)
in a little book with blank pages.** Such alba can be very helpful in the
reconstruction of the itinerary of a student or scholar.

To satisfy the needs of the native elite for education and to encourage
them to stay in their home country, special schools sprung up every-
where in Europe — académies in France, Ritterakademien in the Empire,
collegi dei nobili in Italy, and gymnasia illustria in the United Provinces.
Although in Spain the nobles formed only a minority in the colegios
mayores, those colleges became increasingly training centres for an elite
whose education was based on family and political relations and social

“ W. Klose (ed.), Stammbiicher des 16. Jahrhunderts, Wolfenbiitteler Forschungen, 42

(Munich, 1988); J.-U. Fechner (ed.), Stammbiicher als kulturhistorische Quellen, Wol-
fenbiitteler Forschungen, 11 (Munich, 1981).

432

Mobility

status (for example, the /etrados). The same mentality was current in
the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, which were mainly concerned
with preparing social elites to play their future part in society by teaching
them how to comport themselves in society, administration, law and
diplomacy. The schools for the nobility offered much the same pro-
gramme as the upgraded universities, but were not entitled to award
academic degrees. Although founded to train national elites these aca-
demies and gymnasia were much frequented by noblemen on their
Grand Tour, because these sophisticated gentlemen found them much
more to their taste than many of the traditional universities, however
much these had tried to adapt themselves to the new fashion.*

The English and the Germans had the reputation of being the most
fervent academic tourists — on their own admission because they lacked
culture and refinement. The enthusiasts of the Grand Tour also included
Dutch patricians and Polish, Hungarian and Czech nobles. All in all, the
European elites followed this fashion, Protestants more than Catholics,
and English and German-speakers and Slavs much more than the French,
Italians or Spanish.

In France, Italy, England and the United Provinces, the favourite
countries of these ‘tourists’, there were well-organized centres for their
reception. The German nation in Orléans even devised a special register
for travellers wishing to inscribe their names on it ‘for honour and pos-
terity’. It was not alone in doing so: the German nations in Italy, the
Polish nation in Padua, and others, followed that example. Academic
standards in French universities fell so low that Felix Platter’s father
advised his son to take his degree of doctor of medicine at Basle, not
Montpellier, as this would be more ‘honourable’ for him. ‘If I took my
degree in France people would be sure to say that I was not up to the
standards of the Basle studium; for everyone knew what was said of the
French universities: “‘accipimus pecuniam et mittimus stultos in German-
iam” (we take their money and send them off to Germany as ignorant
as they came)’.** It was common practice to sell degrees at the Universit-
ies of Orléans, Bourges, Angers, Caen, Reims and Orange (to mention
only the universities most frequented by foreigners).*” But France was
not the only country to grant degrees in this easygoing fashion: Harder-
wijk University in the Gelderland, and Duisburg University in Germany
not far from the Dutch frontier, earned the gibe in an eighteenth-century
comedy: ‘His degree was ‘“‘Made in Germany’’, or perhaps he paid a
cool hundred for it at Harderwijk; without making any effort at all or

43 See on academies chapter 7, pp. 318-24.

“ Quoted in Julia, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 12), 39.
4 Julia, ‘Les étudiants et leurs études’ (note 12), 83-6.

433

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

speaking a word of Latin he could then show off in public and pass as
a scholar.’*°

Many more examples could be given. They say nothing about the
quality of teaching in these universities, and are the result of the cleavage
between universities at which students followed courses of study and
universities at which they took their degree. It was the practice of wan-
dering scholars to make a reasoned choice of a university or universities
at home or abroad for their intellectual training, and to take a degree in
another studium chosen for very different reasons. Some students were
attracted by universities known to be easygoing or to charge moderate
fees for their degrees. The cost of a doctorate in medicine, or even in
law, at the University of Paris was astronomical: for a doctorate in medi-
cine at the turn of the seventeenth century, it could amount to as much
aS 3,000 to 5,000 livres (as much as a skilled craftsman could earn in
ten years at 500 livres a year);*’ better go to Reims, Angers or Caen. In
Holland, doctors’ degrees at the renowned alma mater in Leiden were
costly, at other universities less so. Spaniards preferred to take their
degree at Gandia, where a bachelor’s degree in civil or canon law cost
33 livres, as opposed to 53 livres in Valencia.** The small University of
Ofiate in Navarre made a regular practice of matriculating bachelors
from the greater Spanish universities on one day and conferring higher
degrees upon them the next. The professors of Ofiate earned a substan-
tial portion of their income from graduation fees. Other smaller eight-
eenth-century Spanish universities attracted students in the same way,
like Osuna, Irache and Almagro.” In 1570-1 Georg Wagner of Augs-
burg found it hard to decide where to obtain his degree. He had studied
law in Padua, but a doctorate in Padua cost 50 scudi — far too much.
Bologna was no less expensive. He could, then, choose between Siena,
where the degree cost 34 scudi, or Ferrara where it cost 28. After long
reflection he chose Siena; Ferrara’s academic reputation was bad: it was
a haunt of lazy scholars even more than of those who counted their
pennies.””

In the first half of the seventeenth century the Empire hardly figured
in the Grand Tour at all. The Thirty Years War had left parts of this
area devastated and unsafe. A few university cities like Ingolstadt and

47 L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Medical Teaching at the University of Paris, 1600-1720’, Annals
of Science, 35 (1978), 221-51.

*° P. Garcia Trobat, ‘Los grados de la Universidad de Gandia (1630-1772)’, in M. Peset
(ed.), Universidades espanolas y americanas. Epoca colonial (Valencia, 1987), 17; M.
Peset and M. F. Mancebo, ‘La population des universités espagnoles au XVIIle siécle’,
in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1 193.

Kagan, Students and Society, 210-11.

°° Palmer, The ‘Studio’ (note 27), 16.

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Mobility

Strasburg had been spared the horrors of war. Their universities had,
with some success, assumed a fashionable veneer to attract young aristo-
crats on their travels, but those who came were natives of the country
rather than foreigners. Two favourite circuits — Altdorf, Strasburg, Basle,
and Heidelberg, Herborn, Bremen — are discernible in the Kavalierstour
followed by students from central and eastern Europe, especially the
Protestant nobility.’

‘Graduation universities’, or at least the universities then fashionable,
can be identified — surely if laboriously — as the studia at which graduate
members of an institution (such as a state council, parliament, body of
aldermen or chapter) took their degrees. This kind of research has the
additional advantage of illustrating the changes that took place over
time. The lawyers and jurists attached to the princely court of the prince-
bishop of Miinster between 1660 and 1792 preferred to take their
degrees in Bologna, Orléans and Duisburg in the seventeenth century,
and at Harderwijk in the eighteenth century.**

In the period 1580-1794 some 60 per cent of the canons admitted to
the Cathedral Chapter of St Lambert in Liége were natives of the princi-
pality of Liége, from whom 88 per cent graduated. The noble canons,
on the contrary, were mainly from the Netherlands and the Empire.
Louvain University was the one most frequented by future graduate
canons (of whom 182 out of 236, or 77.1 per cent, attended that
university). Of the German universities, only Cologne University is well
represented (with 41 graduate canons, or 17.4 per cent). The Italian
studia attracted a few students — 17 in all — at the end of the sixteenth
century. Of the French universities it was Reims that had the greatest
number (30) of future canons (mainly from 1670 onwards; before then,
Orléans with 14 canons).°°

The nine physicians who founded the faculty of medicine in Edinburgh
(1723-5) were all alumni of Boerhaave, but only one of them was a
graduate of Leiden. Three had taken their degree in Reims, one in Angers
and one in Padua; and three Scots had chosen a Scottish university, Glas-
gow, St Andrews and Edinburgh, but many years later.°* Apparently 90

°1 See the contributions of G. Hélvényi, E. Donnert, G. Grimm, R. G. Plaschka and J.
Sota in R. G. Plaschka and K. Mack (eds.), Wegenetz europdischen Geistes, vol. 1:
Universitaten und Studenten. Die Bedeutung studentischer Migrationen in Mittel- und
Stidosteuropa vom 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Schriftenreihe des 6sterreichischen Ost
und Siidosteuropa-Instituts, 12 (Munich, 1987), 117-26; F. Hruby, Etudiants tchéques
aux écoles protestantes de l’Europe occidentale a la fin du XVIe et au début du XVIle
siécle (Brno, 1970); see the contributions of L. Hajdukiewicz, J. Pesek and M. Svato8,
K. Kubik and Z. Hojda in Kulczykowski (ed.), Pérégrinations académiques (note 11).

°2 Schneppen, Niederldandische Universitaten (note 18), 47-8.

°3_ OQ. Chapeau, ‘La formation universitaire des chanoines gradués du chapitre cathédral
de Saint-Lambert a Liége’, Annuaire d’histoire liégeoise, 20 (1979), 79-114.

°4 G. A. Lindeboom, Herman Boerhaave. The Man and his Work (London, 1968), 372.

435

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

per cent of the plazas de asiento in Castile, the most envied careers in
Spain, were reserved for a minority of families whose officials were
mainly graduates of the colegios mayores of Salamanca and Valladolid,
and to a lesser extent of Alcala.”

Of the 103 doctors registered with the Collegium Medicum of Brussels
in the seventeenth century (from 1649 to 1699), 68 per cent took a
degree in Louvain, and ro (9.7 per cent) in Douai. Then came Padua
(8), Bologna (5), Dole (3), Rome (2), Reims (2), Leiden (2), Pavia (1)
and Pisa (1). Of the 77 physicians registered in the eighteenth century,
74 (96 per cent) received their degree in Louvain, 2 in Bologna and 1
in Harderwijk.°° The situation in the Northern Netherlands is much the
same: between about 1640 and 1699, 75.8 per cent, and in the eight-
eenth century 87 per cent, of the physicians on the rolls at Amsterdam
were graduates of a Netherlands university. Between 1675 and 1799,
83.9 per cent of the physicians on the rolls at The Hague had taken
their degree in their own country. The physicians of Amsterdam pre-
ferred French and Italian universities in the seventeenth century, and
German universities in the eighteenth century.’’ The differences in the
choice of foreign universities arose mainly because there were many fore-
igners, especially Germans and Jews, among the doctors of medicine
who were members of the Amsterdam Collegium Medicum; this state
of affairs was not paralleled in the Southern Netherlands.

THE ENLIGHTENMENT

These examples show that the fashion of going abroad to take a degree
died out in the eighteenth century. The Grand Tour was no longer
looked on as the culmination of a first-class education, but rather as
tourism and travel for pleasure. The idea of utility so dear to the disciples
of Enlightenment began to take precedence in pedagogic thinking too.
Study abroad was still regarded as advantageous and even advisable,
but only in special cases. Young intellectuals sought their advanced
training for a career in a carefully chosen institution, and if they failed
to find one at home, went abroad for it. In short, foreign universities
were used where there were no adequate facilities at home. The official
religion of the studium was now less important, for the fashion of the
times favoured severance from confessional links and, increasingly,

°> Kagan, Students and Society, 80, 97-8.

°° C. Broeckx, Histoire du Collegium Medicum Bruxellense (Antwerp, 1862), appendix:
list of admitted physicians.

°”? W. Frijhoff, ‘Université et marché de |’emploi dans la République des Provinces-Unies’,
in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 212; Frijhoff, Gradués, 230-45.

436

Mobility

religious tolerance. As it was necessary to submit a diploma when taking
up office or applying for inscription on the rolls or a profession, it was
still necessary to appear for examination at a national university — or at
a foreign one if it charged less for its degree, unless the home government
made difficulties for holders of foreign diplomas. There was a revival of
such restrictions towards the end of the seventeenth century. Then, rulers
were less worried about the dangers of heresy than about political influ-
ence and the economic and financial prejudice possibly caused by foreign
travel. They were sceptical about the advantages of the Grand Tour,
and indeed of study at foreign universities, and they feared that their
country would be burdened with an excess of intellectuals.°* The
Habsburgs made this clear when in the seventeenth century they forbade
their subjects in the Netherlands to go to Douai to study (Douai having
become French in 1687): ‘Residence in Douai’ (they said) ‘would give
young people ideas harmful to state service.”

The European wars of the late seventeenth century, in particular those
of Louis XIV, put an end to student mobility on a larger scale. The
Germans and Dutch fled France less because of the Revocation of the
Edict of Nantes in 1685 than because of the War of Succession in the
Palatinate, beginning in 1687. In 1688 the governor of the three sons
of the count of Dernath wrote to their father: “The [Turin] Academy is
daily filled with German Kavaliers who have fled France.’°° The Peace
of Rijswijk in 1697 brought no changes; the French universities attracted
foreigners only from time to time. The University of Reims is somewhat
of an exception to this rule; in the early eighteenth century no less than
60 per cent of its graduates in medicine were foreigners, and at the end
of the eighteenth century this held for still almost 30 per cent, nearly
all of them from the British Isles — in the first half of the eighteenth
century mainly English and Scots; after 1750, Irish. The English and
Scottish Protestants attended Boerhaave’s lectures in Leiden, which were
revolutionary for their time, and went on to take their degree at Reims,
probably on their way home. At Leiden candidates had to write a disser-
tation for their doctorate, whereas in Reims foreigners were given a dip-
loma if they paid a fee and promised not to practise in France.°’ The
Catholic Irish appear to have studied in Paris, where in the latter half of
the eighteenth century medical studies had been quite drastically brought

°8 See chapter 9, pp. 387-8.

°° Quoted by G. Dehon, ‘Frontiére et culture: le conflit entre l'Université de Douai et
l’Autriche (175 5-1763)’, Les facultés catholiques de Lille, 30 (1973), 13-17.

6° N. Conrads, ‘Politische und staatsrechtliche Probleme der Kavalierstour’, in A. Magzak
and H. J. Teutenberg (eds.), Reiseberichte als Quellen europdischer Kulturgeschichte
(Wolfenbiittel, 1982), 55.

1 Julia, ‘Les étudiants’ (note 12), 61-82.

437

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

up-to-date. The College of Surgery especially attracted many foreign
medical students because of its advanced practical training.®*

Boerhaave’s audience in Leiden was very international. Of the 191 stud-
ents who attended his lectures between 1701 and 1738, one-third (659)
came from the English-speaking countries, where medical training was
then of indifferent quality. Comparatively few of his students (178, 43 of
whom were English-speaking) took their degree in Leiden.®* Under the
influence of the Scottish Enlightenment, the Scottish universities flourished
in the eighteenth century, Edinburgh towards the middle of the century
and Glasgow at its end. As these universities did not require any profession
of faith in the Church of Scotland and the programmes in their faculty of
medicine — the pride of Edinburgh and later of Glasgow — were very flex-
ible, they had an international following of Scandinavian, Portuguese and
other students (amongst them Russians), and were visited by English and
Irish dissenters and by Calvinists from the American colonies. Very few
of them, however, took a degree there. Like Leiden in the seventeenth cen-
tury, Edinburgh in the eighteenth century is a good example of a study
university; thus in the 1780s its faculty of medicine had about 500 students
a year, only 20 to 30 of whom took a degree there.®

The new Universities of Halle and Gottingen were poles of attraction
in the Empire, but their international audience should not be over-
estimated. They certainly attracted quite a large number of young people
from northern and eastern Europe, western Europe being represented
there almost solely by Englishmen.®° The reform of the Viennese studium
in the reign of Maria Theresia made it quite widely attractive within
the Habsburg Empire. Hungarian Calvinist students continued to obtain
support from their families but also from the host country when travel-
ling to the Dutch Republic (at least 400 students for the whole eight-
eenth century) or Switzerland (c. 210 students).°’

Italian universities were completely out of fashion. Towards the
middle of the eighteenth century the foreign nations there had to close

6 W. Frijhoff, ‘Le recrutement étranger de |’Académie Royale de Chirurgie de Paris (1752-
1791): la place des Allemands’, in M. Parisse (ed.), Les Echanges universitaires franco-
allemands du Moyen Age au XXe siécle. Actes du colloque de Géttingen -— Mission
historique francaise en Allemagne 3-5 novembre 1988 (Paris, 1991), 73-106.

°§ Lindeboom, Herman Boerhaave (note 54), 356-7.

6 Anon., Evidence, Oral and Documentary Taken by the Commissioners for Visiting the
Universities of Scotland, vol. x1: University of Glasgow (London, 1837), 525.

6° J. B. Morrell, ‘Medicine and Science in the Eighteenth Century’, in G. Donaldson (ed.),
Four Centuries of Edinburgh University Life 1583-1983 (Edinburgh, 1983), 38-52.

6° N. Hammerstein, ‘Die deutschen Universitaten im Zeitalter der Aufklarung’, Zeitschrift
fiir historische Forschung, 10 (1983), 73-89.

6? G. Holvényi, ‘Studenten aus Ungarn. Ihr Studium an verschiedenen Universitaten im
18. Jahrhundert’, in Plaschka and Mack (eds.), Wegenetz europdischen Geistes (note
51), 118-26.

438

Mobility

down for lack of students, as happened with the Polish nation in Padua
in 1745.°° In Pavia more than half the law graduates from 1772 to 1796
were young men from Milan and Pavia, and the only ultramontane stud-
ents were one Viennese and two Swiss.°”

To sum up, the Enlightenment certainly revived university life, and
encouraged student mobility to some extent, but such mobility was
mainly internal and confined to a few centres giving a modern education
suitable for the needs of enlightened states.

GENERAL TRENDS

This chronological description leads naturally to a few general remarks
about student mobility in modern times and to consideration of its pre-
sent state.

The behaviour of migrant students from countries on the fringes of
Europe shows remarkable similarities and is quite different from that
of students from the larger central European countries. The parallel is
especially striking in Scotland and the Scandinavian countries (Denmark,
Sweden, Norway, Iceland and Finland). The ‘national’ universities
founded in the fifteenth century (St Andrews 1411, Aberdeen 1495,
Uppsala 1477 and Copenhagen 1479) had great difficulty in establishing
themselves and winning acceptance from students of their own country.
Not only was the training offered at the native universities regarded as
inadequate, but especially in the upper faculties, foreign travel was the
only way in which the Scottish and northern intelligentsia could become
Europeanized and steep themselves in European culture and European
scientific and economic progress.

Until late in the seventeenth century more Scottish and northern stud-
ents studied at foreign universities than at their native universities; but
very few foreigners studied at Scottish or Nordic studia. In the latter half
of the seventeenth century the numbers of foreign students at the Scottish
or Scandinavian — and indeed all other European — universities began to
decline. Successful efforts were made to improve national education, and
new institutions were founded to keep young people in their own
country, for example, in Dorpat (Tartu) in 1630, and Abo (Turku) in
1640. The nationalist and centralizing policy of the Scandinavian and
Scottish authorities set out to promote and protect the national systems

6° A. Brillo, ‘Gli stemmi degli studenti polachi nell’Universita di Padova’, in Ommaggio
dell’Universita di Padova all’Academia polacca di scienze e lettere in occasione del VII
congresso internazionale di scienze storiche in Varsavia (Padua, 1933), 4-5.

6 M. C. Zorzoli, Le tesi legali all’Universita di Pavia nell’eta delle riforme 1772-1796
(Milan, 1980); M. C. Zorzoli, Universita, dottori, giureconsulti. L’organizzazione della
‘Facolta legale’ di Pavia nell’eta spagnola (Padua, 1986), 72-4, gives analogous figures.

439

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

of higher education by passing laws to restrict travel for the purpose of
study abroad.

The iter italicum had lost little or none of its attraction for students
from the fringes of Europe, and the iter gallicum and iter hollandicum
were also for a time popular with them; but otherwise those students
chose foreign universities not far from their own countries. Thus the
Portuguese flocked to the Spanish studia, especially Salamanca; the Scots
preferred north-western Europe (Paris, Orléans, the Low Countries and
Cologne); the north Europeans studied mainly at Baltic universities
(many of which were of indifferent quality) or at universities bordering
on the Holy Roman Empire (Greifswald, Rostock, Prague, Wittenberg
and KGnigsberg). The Poles, Moravians and Bohemians were a little
more selective, with Catholic students staying at home or studying at
the nearest foreign universities (Cracow, Prague or other Habsburg
studia). In the first half of the sixteenth century Wittenberg was the
university most favoured by Lutherans, and in the latter half of the six-
teenth century and early seventeenth century Heidelberg was the univer-
sity most favoured by Calvinists. In the seventeenth century the Dutch
universities remained popular. Because of Tsar Peter the Great’s predi-
lection for the West the numbers of Russian students at Dutch universit-
ies increased towards the mid-eighteenth century, although the Dutch
studia, and student mobility in general, were then in decline. Before Peter
the Great the need for learning and a university degree, which depended
on the practical need for specialists, was rather limited. The few Russian
young men who nevertheless wanted an academic education abroad
went to some German (KGnigsberg) or Italian universities. The Univer-
sity of Moscow, founded in 1755, provided initially only a basic edu-
cation. Students were sent abroad to Paris, Strasburg, Leiden and Got-
tingen to specialize and to graduate.”° Sicilians, and Italians in general,
rarely left the Italian peninsula, many of them attending the great studia
of northern Italy. Most students from Cyprus (ruled by Venice until
1570) and Crete (ruled by Venice until 1669) studied at Padua even after
their countries fell under Turkish domination, and together formed an
overseas nation (nazione oltremarina) there. Isolated Greek students
(Graeci) are recorded in universities north of the Alps, and a few dozen
Turks are known to have studied in Holland in the seventeenth
century.

In proportion to the national population, young people of the ‘large’
countries were comparatively stay-at-home. It is impossible to quote
figures, but the following assumption, although not a proven fact, is

” G. A. Novicky, ‘L’origine de l’enseignement supérieur en Russie et la fondation de |’uni-
versité de Moscou’, in Universités européennes, 162.

440

Mobility

based on material from various sources. According to Eulenburg,”’ ro
per cent of all the Germans who attended university before 1800 studied
in Italy. The total number of wandering scholars is much higher.
Niléhn” calculated the number of Swedes registered at Swedish and for-
eign universities (mainly in the Holy Roman Empire and the United
Provinces) in the seventeenth century as follows: at the beginning of
the century, four-fifths of all Swedish students had studied at foreign
universities, but by the end of the century that proportion had fallen to
barely ro per cent. For the entire seventeenth century the average per-
centage is 13.3. Between 1560 and 1620 the nobility of Bohemia, Mora-
via, Silesia and Vorarlberg (Austria) studied almost exclusively abroad,
preferably in the Holy Roman Empire, unless the nobles went on their
Grand Tour. Counting nobles and commoners, three-quarters of all the
students from the Habsburg countries went to German universities, and
not to the University of Vienna.”

I. Kaniewska has calculated”* that approximately 20 per cent of the
Poles who attended a university between 1510 and 1560 studied abroad.
She estimates that there were from 1,300 to 1,500 wandering scholars,
as opposed to 7,438 scholars registered at Cracow, not counting scholars
registered both there and abroad.

At least ro per cent of all graduates from the Northern Netherlands
between 1575 and 1814 took their degrees in a foreign university. Their
numbers increased especially in the seventeenth century, when they rose
to 18 per cent. Most of these graduates acquired a diploma during their
Grand Tour after having obtained their basic academic education at
home.”

From the data available it can be estimated that approximately 15
per cent of students from the Southern Netherlands registered in a
foreign university until about 1600. In the seventeenth century their
numbers fell considerably. A Grand Tour was a rarity in the Spanish and
Austrian Netherlands. More exact figures exist for the city of Antwerp.”°

” Eulenburg, Frequenz (note 16), 126 and W. Frijhoff, ‘Grandeur des nombres et miséres
des réalités: la courbe de Franz Eulenburg et le débat sur le nombre d’intellectuels en
Allemagne, 1576-1815’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 33, 50.

L. Niléhn, Peregrinatio Academica. Det Svenska Sambillet och de utrikes studieresorna
under 1600-thalet (Lund, 1983), 165, with tables. See the special issue on ‘Sweden in
European Networks’ of Science Studies. A Scandinavian Journal published by the Finn-
ish Society for Science Studies, 5.2 (1992) and more especially P. Eliasson, ‘Peregrinatio
Academica: the Study Tours and University Visits of Swedish Students until the Year
1800. 600 Years of Travelling Students’, 29-42.

Kohler, ‘Bildung und Konfession’ (note 13), 110-11 and tables.

I. Kaniewska, ‘Les étudiants de |’Université de Cracovie aux XVe et XVle siécles (143 3-
1560)’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1, 127.

> Frijhoff, Gradués, 383.

H. de Ridder-Symoens, ‘Het onderwijs te Antwerpen in de zeventiende eeuw’, in
Antwerpen in de XVIIde eeuw (Antwerp, 1989), 233-7.

441

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

Approximately one-quarter of all scholars from Antwerp attended a
foreign university; their numbers were highest in the sixteenth century,
especially during the second half. Antwerp is not, however, a representa-
tive city of the Southern Netherlands, and was certainly not so in the
sixteenth century, when it grew enormously and became the inter-
national trading and financial capital. Its international importance is
fully shown by the popularity with its citizens of study abroad.

From the above incomplete numerical data it is certainly clear that
student mobility in Europe under the ancien régime, or rather until about
1700, was an important and essential part of university history. Roads
were bad and unsafe, transport primitive, inns few and far between and
of poor quality; military operations were nearly always going on, there
were outbreaks of chauvinism and xenophobia, and interminable
religious and political disputes. In spite of all this, thousands and thou-
sands of young people travelled all over Europe in search of knowledge,
culture, adventure, safety, people of their own religion, and more pres-
tigious academic degrees, or merely to ape the fashion of the moment.

To compare: in 1985 less than 1 per cent of all European students
spent a period abroad for study purposes. To make university studies
more international the Commission of the European Communities
launched the Erasmus programme (European Action Scheme for the
Mobility of University Students), in the hope that by 1992 it would have
enabled ro per cent of the students of its member countries to study for
a recognized period in another country of the Community” — ro per
cent, a proportion already achieved by our scholarly ancestors under the
ancien régime.

Students’ travel tales and letters home give a lively and colourful
account of their wanderings. They had first to choose how they would
travel — by ship, carriage, on horseback or by stage-coach — and in what
company, whether with a caravan of merchants or a diplomatic mission,
with other tourists, or on their own. The travellers’ guides of the time
gave them valuable information on what tourists should see and the
difficulties they were likely to encounter abroad, on passport require-
ments, foreign currency and exchange, on the Inquisition in Catholic
countries and on ways of life and customs abroad, many of which must
have seemed to them outlandish. These guides include information on
inns, food and wine, and of course the cost of living, together with
advice bearing more directly on education, such as where to study, what
courses to follow, useful contacts, and political, administrative and
religious information of use in the foreign country of destination.

”” Anon., ‘Commission des communautés européennes. Pour un nouvel essor de la mobilité
des étudiants en Europe’, CRE-Information, 72 (1985), 128-9.

442

Mobility

Understandably, some countries were less fashionable with foreigners,
as their travel journals make clear. English tourists found that the most
pleasant countries for travel were France, Italy and the Netherlands.
Travel in Bohemia, Poland and the eastern parts of the Holy Roman
Empire (Westphalia and Saxony) was difficult because hotel accommo-
dation was inadequate, the roads were impassable for wheeled traffic,
and little public transport was available. Travel in Spain and Portugal
was to be regarded purely and simply as an adventure: the Iberian penin-
sula was accessible almost solely through its seaports; anyone risking a
journey into the interior had to take cooking utensils and bedding with
him, as inns lacked the most rudimentary comfort and could not even
supply food fit for consumption. The roads were dangerous and impass-
able by wheeled traffic and the only means of transport was by mule-
back. It was advisable to travel in winter or spring to avoid the torrid
heat of summer. Neither was ‘lovely and amiable France’ ideal for a
foreign student: Angers, for example, was a city of ‘slums and spires,
rich whores and poor scholars’.”*? Wittenberg, the Lutheran Mecca, was
no better, being ‘poor and very dirty; the dwellers there mainly students,
prostitutes and pigs’.””

Whilst material conditions undoubtedly influenced a student’s choice
of university, other obstacles could be far more serious. Outbreaks of
plague caused students and teachers to flee from cities: between 1502
and 1530 there were several such outbreaks in Orléans, where the popu-
lation was decimated and the university deserted. Erasmus nevertheless
sought refuge in Orléans when he fled from the plague in Paris in 1500.
The Heidelberg studium had to shut its doors for a time (1564-5); there
was a mass emigration of students to Eppingen, where the house in
which they took refuge is still standing.*°

Military operations were another obstacle to the free circulation of
migrant students. Fighting could stop travel, as in Picardy in the wars
between Francis I and Charles V in the first half of the sixteenth century,
which prevented students from coming to Paris and Orléans to study.
War in the home country kept people at home or prevented foreigners
from arriving. Every European university suffered at some time or other
in this way. Accounts of all these disasters are to be found in student
registers; they help to explain fluctuations in the numbers of native and
foreign students, but do not alter established trends. Plague or war could

78 E. S. Bates, Touring in 1600. A Study in the Development of Travel as a Means of
Education (Boston, Mass./New York, 1912), 158.

” Quoted in Bates, Touring in 1600 (note 78), 121.

8° C. Cuissard, ‘La peste noire 4 Orléans, 590-1668’, Mémoires de la Société d’agriculture,
des sciences, belles-lettres et arts d’Orléans, 36 (1897), 105-65; F. Meuthen, Kdlner
Universitatsgeschichte, vol. 1: Die alte Universitat (Cologne/Vienna, 1988), 244.

443

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

isolate a studium for a time, but militant nationalism, often coupled
with intolerance and religious isolation, shut out foreign students for an
indefinite period. Prague after 1433 (the Hussite troubles) is a striking
example of this.

So much for the factors restricting the choice of a university. The
reasons for which students chose a particular studium were: family tra-
dition, the renown of the university or city, its religious and/or political
loyalties, financial considerations, practical considerations such as dis-
tance, ease of access and comfort, academic facilities such as nations
and special privileges, opportunities for becoming proficient in foreign
languages, fashion (particularly important to noblemen), and various
fortuitous and unforeseen factors.

The most important privilege enjoyed by foreign students was safe-
guard. Letters of safeguard — in effect, letters of safe-conduct — granted
by rulers to a foreign student were intended to exempt him from
reprisals, and in general to protect him, his suite and his property from
prejudice of any kind; but at times rulers ‘forgot’ such privileges when
they were at war with foreign countries, and public animosity against
foreigners often ran so high that rulers had to order their subjects to
respect safeguard privileges. In modern times rulers kept a tight rein on
migrants in their territory; foreign students were among those affected,
and they were subjected to the passport system. The requirement of a
passport also enabled the authorities to keep an eye on the movements
of their own subjects and to enforce the laws prohibiting study abroad.
If a young student did manage to leave his country and obtain a foreign
university degree, thereby becoming eligible for employment, returning
to a post reserved for graduates of the national universities, he had to
apply to the authorities for a dispensation. This was granted easily
enough where the applicant’s foreign studies filled gaps in the national
education.

How should this academic migration of individual students be
assessed, and how far did it influence the spread of ideas? It is hard to
answer these questions, especially as the subject has not been thoroughly
explored. Much has been written on the influence of illustrious thinkers
on ideas and knowledge, but far less on the multitude of young intellec-
tuals who faced danger and difficulty in their quest for knowledge and
culture. The spread of ideas and of a common culture to the remotest
parts of Europe would have been inconceivable but for these young
people. Student mobility delivered the countries on the fringes of Europe
from their isolation and made them partners in the development of the
entire continent, and in its intellectual, cultural and material progress. J.
Peek and D. Saman make this clear in respect of Bohemia when they
write: ‘Study abroad encouraged cultural and scientific relations between

444

Mobility

Bohemia and foreign countries, and students abroad were sources of
information on political, ideological and religious affairs in Bohemia and
abroad.”*' The close intellectual ties between western Europe and Maxim
the Greek, a Russian religious writer of Greek origin, were due to his
long stay in Italian universities at the end of the fifteenth century. It was
through him that Latin civilization and humanist ideas entered Moscow
for the first time. Greek students who had graduated at the University
of Padua kept Greek and Latin culture alive among the Orthodox
peoples of the Ottoman Empire between the sixteenth and nineteenth
centuries by founding Greek schools; and Jewish integration into Europe
was facilitated by the intellectuals who had learned to co-exist with
Christian commilitones in university communities.”

The respublica litteraria of Europe was maintained and enriched by
thousands of wandering intellectuals, if indeed it does not owe its very
existence to them. Studies of the influence of one nation on another, and
of the spread of ideas in Europe, were produced in growing numbers
and leave no doubt as to the crucial importance of wandering students
and professors in this process. Thus the influence of the French school
of law and subsequently of the Dutch school of law, on Scottish law and
institutions is well known.

K. A. Modéer states this clearly as regards Sweden when he says:
‘European jurists played a very significant part in Swedish legal life in
the seventeenth century. Many of them were active in the Europeaniz-
ation that did so much to acquaint Sweden with new forms of law, and
by doing so improved the legal procedure of Sweden, then a great
power.’ ® The mos italicus and the mos gallicus were spread throughout
Europe by wandering students and teachers, just as the scientific revol-
ution of the seventeenth century was introduced into countries opposed
to the new sciences by scientists who had learned them at scientific
centres abroad. Medical faculties in nearly the whole of Europe, and as
far afield as Russia, were reorganized on the model of the medical cur-
riculum and teaching programme prepared at Leiden by Boerhaave, the
communis Europae praeceptor (teacher of all Europe), as the learned
professor was called.™ In all those countries that model was spread by
his alumni.

81 J. PeSek and D. Saman, ‘Les étudiants de Bohéme dans les universités et académies
d’Europe centrale et occidentale entre 1596 et 1620’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 1,
110.

82 E. Denisoff, Maxime le Grec et l’Occident. Contribution a V’histoire de la pensée religi-
euse et philosophique de Michel Trivolis (Paris/Louvain, 1943).

83 K. A. Modéer, ‘Die Rolle der Juristen in Schweden im 17. Jahrhundert. Eine rechts-
historische Skizze’, in G. Rystad (ed.), Europe and Scandinavia. Aspects of the Process
of Integration in the Seventeenth Century (Lund, 1983), 133.

84 Lindeboom, Herman Boerhaave (note 54), 355.

445

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

The influence of student migration made itself felt in other directions.
The importance of student mobility in the spread of the Reformation in
Europe has been emphasized repeatedly. Just as Padua in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, and Leiden in the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, were the centres of the reform of medical teaching in Europe,
so Wittenberg, Heidelberg, Herborn and Geneva may be regarded as the
breeding-grounds of religious reform.

During the Thirty Years War the large numbers of German students
in Dorpat (Tartu), then a Swedish city, exercised a less solemn influence
on student life by introducing the habits and customs of deutsches Stu-
dentenleben, such as the Landsmannschaft (esprit de corps) and
drinking-bouts.*°

From the official point of view there was good reason for laws pro-
hibiting study abroad. Hobbes writes that the universities were a hotbed
of radicals and republicans and that they spread subversive doctrines.
As far as the Low Countries are concerned he was no doubt right. The
Netherlandish revolutionaries of the 1560s drew their inspiration from
abroad. Several leaders of revolt in the Netherlands had studied in Orlé-
ans at some time between 1561 and 1572, when Orléans was a Hug-
uenot stronghold. Law students there came into direct contact with the
iconoclasts, the formation of a Calvinist republic and the corresponding
introduction of Calvinist theological teaching. In his book Intellectual
Origins of the English Revolution C. Hill notes: ‘Easier to estimate is
the intellectual stimulus which Englishmen received from outside...
Even more important as an intellectual influence than the honorary Prot-
estants of Venice [Padua] were the fighting Protestants of France and the
Netherlands.’** In 1662 the Elector Frederick William of Brandenburg
ordered his subjects to leave Wittenberg in Saxony under penalty of for-
feiting all right to hold public office in their country, because that univer-
sity was opposing his efforts to reconcile Calvinists and Lutherans in his
principality. *”

To end this survey of European student mobility it is perhaps in order
to quote Wilhelm von Humboldt, who in 1810 successfully pleaded with
the king of Prussia to restore freedom to study abroad by repealing the
prohibitory orders of previous reigns: ‘dass keine Landeskinder mehr

85 §. Gogtautas, ‘The Early History of the University of Vilnius. A Crossroads between
East and West’, in G. von Pistohlkors, T. U. Raun and P. Kaegbein (eds.), Die Universi-
titen Dorpat/Tartu, Riga und Wilna/Vilnius 1579-1979, Quellen und Studien zur Bal-
tischen Geschichte, 9 (Cologne, 1987), 3.

8° C. M. Ridderikhoff and C. Heesakkers (eds.), Deuxiéme livre des procurateurs de la
nation germanique de l’ancienne Université d’Orléans, 1547-1567. Premiére partie:
Texte des rapports des procurateurs, vol. 1 (Leiden, 1988), XLU-XLIv; C. Hill, Intellec-
tual Origins of the English Revolution (London, 1972), 276.

87 Conrads, ‘Probleme’ (note 60), 57.

446

Mobility

gezwungen werden sollen, bloss die Landesuniversitaéten zu besuchen’
(that no Prussian should any longer be obliged to study only in national
universities).**> Humboldt had himself been a wandering student; with
him begins a new era in university history.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bates, E. S. Touring in 1600. A Study in the Development of Travel as a Means
of Education, Boston, Mass./New York, 1912.

Black, J. The British and the Grand Tour, London/Sydney, 1985.

Black, J. ‘France and the Grand Tour in the Early Eighteenth Century’, Francia,
II (1983), 407-16.

Brizzi, G. P. ‘La pratica del viaggio d’istruzione in Italia nel Sei—-Settecento’,
Annali dell’Istituto Storico Italo-Germanico in Trento, 2 (1976), 203-91.

Burgess, A. and Haskell, F. The Age of the Grand Tour, London, 1967.

Conrads, N. ‘Politische und staatsrechtliche Probleme der Kavalierstour’, in A.
Magzak and H. J. Teutenberg (eds.), Reiseberichte als Quellen europdischer
Kulturgeschichte, Wolfenbiittel, 1982, 45-64.

Csaky-Loebenstein, E.-M. ‘Die adelige Kavalierstour im 17. Jahrhundert. Ihre
Voraussetzungen und Ziele’, Ph.D. dissertation, Vienna, 1966.

Dotzauer, W. ‘Deutsche in westeuropdischen Hochschul- und Handelsstddten,
vornehmlich in Frankreich, bis zum Ende des alten Reiches. Nation, Bruder-
schaft, Landsmannschaft’, Geschichtliche Landeskunde, 5 (1969), 89-159.

Dotzauer, W. ‘Deutsches Studium und deutsche Studenten an europdischen
Hochschulen (Frankreich, Italien) und die nachfolgende T4atigkeit in Stadt,
Kirche und Territorium in Deutschland’, in E. Maschke and J. Sydow (eds.),
Stadt und Universitat im Mittelalter und in der friihen Neuzeit, Sigmaringen,
1977, I12-41.

Frank-van Westrienen, A. De Groote Tour. Tekening van de educatiereis der
Nederlanders in de zeventiende eeuw, Amsterdam, 1983.

Le Goff, J. and Képeczi, B. (eds.) Intellectuels francais, intellectuels Hongrois,
XIIIe—X Xe siécles, Budapest/Paris, 1985.

Hammerstein, N. ‘Prinzenerziehung im landgraflichen Hessen—Darmstadt’, Hes-
sisches Jahrbuch ftir Landesgeschichte, 33 (1983), 193-237.

Helk, A. V. Dansk-Norske Studierejser fra reformationen til enevaelden 15 36-
1660. Med en matrikel over studerende i udlandet, Odense, 1987.

Julia, D. and Revel, J. ‘Les étudiants et leurs études dans la France moderne’, in
D. Julia, J. Revel and R. Chartier (eds.), Les Universités européennes du X Vle
au XVIIIe siécle. Histoire sociale des populations étudiantes, vol. u, Paris,
1989, 25-486.

Kibry, P. F. The Grand Tour in Italy, New York, 1952.

Kiihnel, H. ‘Die adlige Cavaliers-Tour im 17. Jahrhundert’, Jahrbuch fiir
Landeskunde Niederosterreichs, NS 36 (1964), 364-84.

88 W. von Humboldt, ‘Ueber Aufhebung des Verbotes, fremde Universitaten zu besuchen,
4. April 1810’, in W. von Humboldt, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. x (Berlin, 1903), 237.

447

Hilde de Ridder-Symoens

Kulczykowski, M. (ed.) Pérégrinations académiques. IVéme Session scientifique
internationale, Cracovie 19-21 mai 1983, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu
Jagiellonskiego DCCCLXx. Prace Historyczne, Z. 88, Warsaw/Cracow, 1989.

Mathorez, J. Les Etrangers en France sous l’ancien régime. Histoire de la forma-
tion de la population francaise, 2 vols., Paris, 1919-21.

Meed, W. E. The Grand Tour in the Eighteenth Century, Boston, Mass./New
York, 1914.

Natio Polona. Le Universita in Italia e in Polonia (secc. XIII-XX). Mostra docu-
mentaria — Uniwersytety w Polsce i we Wloszech (Wieki XIII-XX). Wystawa
Archiwalna, Perugia, 1990.

Plaschka, R. G. and Mack, K. (eds.) Wegenetz europdischen Geistes. Wissen-
schaftszentren und geistige Wechselbeziehungen zwischen Mittel- und Siidost-
europa vom Ende des 18. Jahrhundert bis zum Ersten Weltkrieg, Schriften-
reihe des 6sterreichischen Ost- und Siidosteuropa-Instituts, 8, Munich, 1983.

Plaschka, R. G. and Mack, K. (eds.) Wegenetz europdischen Geistes, vol. I:
Universitaten und Studenten. Die Bedeutung studentischer Migrationen in
Mittel- und Stidosteuropa vom 18. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Schriftenreihe
des 6sterreichischen Ost- und Siidosteuropa-Instituts, 12, Munich, 1987.

Stagl, J. ‘Die Apodemik oder ‘“‘Reisekunst” als Methodik der Sozialforschung
vom Humanismus bis zur Aufklarung’, in M. Rassem and J. Stagl (eds.), Stati-
stik und Staatsbeschreibung in der Neuzeit vornehmlich im 16.-18. Jabrhunda-
ert, Paderborn/Munich/Vienna/Ziirich, 1980, 131-204.

Trease, G. The Grand Tour, London, 1967.

Treue, W. ‘Zum Thema des Auslandreisen im 17. Jahrhundert’, Archiv ftir Kul-
turgeschichte, 35 (1953), 199-211.

443

PART IV

LEARNING

€

CHAPTER 11

TRADITION AND
INNOVATION

OLAF PEDERSEN

The first European universities emerged in the twelfth and thirteenth
centuries as corporations of masters and students in which higher edu-
cation was reorganized and developed along lines which clearly reflected
some of the basic needs of society. In fact, each one of the four tra-
ditional faculties of arts, law, medicine and theology was a school serv-
ing a particular sector in which a certain amount of standard knowledge
was a necessity.

This rather simple system would seem to indicate that the needs
for expert knowledge were limited to a few particular fields. This is,
however, an illusion. On the one hand, it is obvious that the ever-
growing complexity of economic and social life must have led to new
requirements in education which had to be met inside or outside the
already established system. Yet on the other hand, there is plenty of
evidence that even in their first phase the universities were unable to
cope with all the existing demands for higher education. In some
cases they themselves tried to remedy their shortcomings by extending
their horizon to new fields of immediate relevance to society, and
usually with real scientific or scholarly progress as the result. In other
cases they ignored even very obvious problems. As a consequence
their teaching became increasingly obsolete and their social impact
less conspicuous compared with non-university schools or other insti-
tutions which were better adapted to meet the new challenges and
which, by the middle of the seventeenth century, had become an
accepted part of the system of education. The field is extremely wide
and complex, and it is here possible to indicate only some of the
major areas, faculty by faculty, in which the shortcomings of the
universities were Overcome, either by appropriate, internal reforms or
by the establishment of alternative institutions.

451

Olaf Pedersen

THE FACULTY OF MEDICINE

The medical faculty occupied a position of its own in more ways than
one, for here the separation between theory and practice was recognized
from the very beginning as an obstacle to a complete education, some-
thing which only gradually dawned upon the other faculties. Moreover,
it stands out as the faculty which understood better than the others how
to cope with the problem. The result was that the progress of medicine
took place within the pale of the universities which, in this field, pre-
served their ideal status as the principal seats of higher education and
research.

Already the first great medical schools of the Middle Ages, with
Salerno as the most important example, had attached much more
importance to medicine, in the narrow sense of the word, than to sur-
gery. This tradition was carried into the first university faculties and
strengthened here by two different circumstances.

First, surgery presupposed a considerable manual skill and was, there-
fore, traditionally regarded as a practical or technical craft. It was, like
other crafts, in the hands of specialized practitioners such as surgeons,
barbers, or even more lowly followers of the profession, all of whom
were gradually incorporated into a number of corporations or guilds
which provided the education of their own apprentices and tried to keep
non-members away from the profession. Consequently, medieval medi-
cine as such had to limit its scope to the treatment of disease by purely
‘medicinal’ cures based on drugs, dietary prescriptions or hygienic meas-
ures. These subjects constituted the curriculum of university medicine,
which was taught in a ‘theoretical’ way from textbooks of Greek or
Arabic origin. As such it went well along with the prevailing ideas of a
university education as a non-manual field of knowledge, although the
medical curriculum usually comprised some clinical instruction at the
bedside under the supervision of a medical practitioner.’

Secondly, there were also ecclesiastical obstacles to a complete inte-
gration of medicine and surgery. In 1215 the Fourth Lateran Council
decreed (in Canon 18) that all clerics of the higher orders of priests,
deacons and subdeacons were forbidden to be present at any act in
which blood was shed. This measure was primarily directed against the
use of ordeals in judicial procedures and thus motivated by reasons
unconnected with medicine; but it was made more comprehensive and
explicitly prohibited participation in operations by both incision and
cauterization. As a result, the universities were prevented from introduc-
ing courses of surgery into the medical curriculum, and surgery could

’ See volume 1, chapter 11.

452

Tradition and innovation

only be studied elsewhere by laymen or clerics in the lower orders. Since
such clerics were allowed to marry, the decree of the Council was instru-
mental in changing medicine in general into a lay profession.”
However, even the medical faculty in the restricted sense of the word
was not self-sufficient. The art of the physician presupposed the appli-
cation of drugs and medicines, the practical preparation of which was
in the hands of the guilds of apothecaries and herbalists who constituted
a non-academic profession, whilst the theoretical knowledge of the ma-
teria medica was taught by professors of medicine, a fact which led later
to the establishment of the science of pharmacy within the faculty.
Thus the separation of medicine, pharmacy and surgery became a
characteristic of the medical life of the Middle Ages. It may be a question
of how strictly it was observed, but the important point is that, while
the universities educated only medical practitioners, there was from the
beginning an alternative ‘higher’ education of surgeons ouside the con-
fines of the faculty. This dichotomy gave rise to many difficulties. Phys-
icians and surgeons met often at the bed of the same patient, and it was
not always easy to define the exact lines of demarcation between them.
One and the same wound might be scraped clean by the surgeon only
to be dressed with unguents provided by the physician. Why was the
surgeon not allowed to finish his own treatment? On the other hand, a
practitioner might find it quite unnecessary to call in a surgeon to open
a small boil which had proved resistant to his own plasters. The two
professions clearly needed each other and, as time went by, it became
more and more imperative to unite them. But this was a difficult task,
partly because both corporations were jealously fighting for their cus-
tomary right to deal with their own cases without interference from out-
siders, and partly because the attempt to give an academic status to
surgery was intimately connected with the vexed question of dissection.
Everybody agreed that the craft of the surgeon presupposed a good
knowledge of the anatomy of the human body. But ancient Roman law
had prohibited the mutilation of dead bodies so that dissection for scien-
tific purposes also became illegal and was regarded with abhorrence both
in Antiquity and the Middle Ages. In consequence, the traditional man-
uals of anatomy by Galen and others were often based upon real or
supposed analogies between human anatomy and that of the pig, and
their inherent errors were only slowly recognized through that fresh
insight which surgeons might obtain through operations or dissections.
Only around the year 1300 was a new attitude beginning to defy tra-

2 P. Diepgen, Die Theologie und der Grztliche Stand (Berlin, 1922); cf. P. Delaunay, La
Meédicine et l’Eglise. Contribution a histoire de l'exercice médical par les clercs (Paris,
1948).

453

Olaf Pedersen

ditional prejudices, with Italy taking the lead with a chair of surgery
established in 1308 in Bologna.

In France things developed more slowly. Dissection did not come to
Montpellier until 1366 and to Paris until 1404 (see volume I, chapter
11). In the latter place the first step towards the integration of the two
disciplines seems to have been taken by the surgeons who applied for
permission to join the faculty on the basis of their own previous edu-
cation. In 1436 the faculty allowed them to attend lectures in medicine,
but not to take medical degrees; this prevented them from being able to
obtain authorization as medical practitioners.’ This unsatisfactory situ-
ation was even more aggravated in 1494 when the faculty made the
surgeons desperate by opening its doors to their arch-enemies, the bar-
bers. A settlement was reached in 1506 and finally confirmed in 1515,
when the surgeons of Saint-Céme declared themselves to be students of
the faculty and swore the statutory oath to its dean. From this time on
a combined surgical and medical education became possible within the
context of the university, and the same system was gradually introduced
elsewhere.* In England all barbers, surgeons and military surgeons in
London were united in a single corporation by an Act of Parliament in
1540; but here it was the Royal College of Physicians (founded in 1518
by Thomas Linacre) which was given a royal privilege of the right of
claiming the bodies of felons for dissection (1565) as a prerequisite of
the new anatomical lectures for physicians which began in 1569-70.°

This integration of the main branches of medical education was highly
beneficial for society, in providing a new type of general practitioner
who was able to cope with a wider range of cases than his medieval
predecessor; but perhaps the impact on the universities was even greater.
There is no doubt that the unification of medicine and surgery was one
of the principal factors that allowed the university faculties not only to
survive during a period of general decline, but also to develop into
centres of scientific research of a new type. This was brought about first
and foremost by the recognition of anatomy as a scientific and academic
discipline worthy of the attention of the universities, as illustrated by the
impressive succession of famous anatomists who, during the sixteenth
century, made the University of Padua the medical centre of Europe.
Modern anatomy was created in the anatomical theatre of Padua, where
the discipline of anatomy was at last separated from surgery by the cre-

3H. Denifle and E. Chatelain (eds.), Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis, vol. rv (Paris,
1897), 594, no. 2496.

* E. Wickersheimer, Commentaires de la faculté de médicine de l’Université de Paris
1395-1516 (Paris, 1915). See also chapter 9, pp. 375, 403-6.

° G. Clark, A History of the Royal College of Physicians of London, 2 vols. (Oxford,
1964-6).

454

Tradition and innovation

ation of the first anatomical chair (1609). The proliferation of such
theatres all over Europe during the following two centuries is sufficient
evidence that the medical faculties had learned the lesson that academic
survival may be dependent on the acceptance of new subject matter for
both research and teaching —a lesson which the other faculties were much
more reluctant to digest. But these expensive theatres also showed that
considerable economic investments were necessary in order to maintain
the position of the university as the natural centre of higher learning.°

THE FACULTY OFLAWS

The faculty of laws dealt with subject matter of obvious public interest
and became more directly involved with the various authorities in society
than any of the other three faculties. Kings, princes and bishops found
their councillors, judges and civil servants among its graduates, who
were indispensable for the daily administration of their dominions; in
not a few instances the members of the faculty as a whole were called
upon to give advice on difficult or doubtful matters of policy in both
national and international affairs. For this reason alone, while faculties
of theology were rather rare in the early universities and not every uni-
versity had a faculty of medicine, there were law schools everywhere.
Moreover, they were often the largest of the higher faculties, both with
respect to the number of teachers and the student population.

The influence of the faculties of law on medieval society was to a large
extent determined by the fact that only two great systems of law were
the subject matter of teaching, each of them forming a separate depart-
ment or school, namely canon and Roman law (see volume 1, chapter
12). As an academic discipline Roman law did not provide a preparation
for meeting the needs of most European countries, yet it gave its students
a formal training in legal matters which was useful to those among them
who worked in one country after another on the task of codifying or
practising local (non-Roman) laws, as well as feudal law which was
more internationally accepted.’

Nevertheless, when in 1679 Colbert reformed the faculty of law in
Paris, he not only introduced the teaching of Roman law (which had
been prohibited since 1219) but also supplemented it with a new chair
of French law.

° G. Richter, Das anatomische Theater, Abhandlungen zur Geschichte der Medizin und
der Naturwissenschaft, 16 (Berlin, 1936).

” See the excellent survey by H. D. Hazeltine, ‘Roman and Canon Law in the Middle
Ages’, in J. R. Tanner, C. W. Prévite-Orton and Z. N. Brooke (eds.), The Cambridge
Medieval History, vol. v (rst edn Cambridge, 1926; 8th edn Cambridge, 1979), 697-
764.

455

Olaf Pedersen

The opposition to Roman law found a very articulate expression in
England, where the common law was supported by a strong tradition
and strengthened by the huge compilation (in Latin) of The Laws and
Customs of England made by Henry de Bracton in the middle of the
thirteenth century and based on common practice and procedures as
expressed in the actual decisions of the various courts.® Yet the universit-
ies never seem to have considered even the possibility of making the laws
of the country the subject matter of at least a part of their teaching.

This failure gave rise to an organized alternative to university teaching
which emerged far away from Oxford and Cambridge in the form of the
so-called Inns of Court in London.’ These unique institutions go back
to about AD 1400, that is, to a time when ever more cases were being
judged at the King’s Bench, the Court of Chancery, and other central
High Courts, and provincial lawyers were forced to spend the legal term
in the capital. There they arranged themselves in companies or clubs,
each with its own hostel, cook and servants; this explains the name ‘Inn’.
When the lawyers began to teach pupils in the period between the ses-
sions of the courts, they inaugurated a system which was fully developed
at the time when John Fortescue wrote his De laudibus legum Angliae
(c. 1470). In Tudor times the Inns of Court prospered so much that they
were ranked with the universities. Their relative importance increased
after the Reformation, which deprived Oxford and Cambridge of their
schools of canon law which were closed here as elsewhere in Protestant
countries. In his Description of England dating from 1577, William Har-
rison could even say that ‘in our days there are three noble universities
in England, one in Oxford, another in Cambridge, and a third in Lon-
don’. The number of students confirms this statement. Around 1560,
Gray’s Inn had about 220 students, the Inner Temple about 190, the
Middle Temple about the same, and Lincoln’s Inn about 160. To this
should be added the students of the ten lesser Inns of Chancery.

The development of the English Inns of Court is perhaps the first and
certainly one of the most interesting examples of the fact that it was
possible to break the teaching monopoly of the university faculties of
law when the conditions were right and pressures from society suffic-
iently strong. Without them it would have been impossible to uphold
the traditional system of English law against the constant promotion of
Roman law by the universities.

The fact that the Normans introduced French as the legal and
judiciary language in England implied that no one could practise English
law without a solid knowledge of this language. Now, no medieval

® F. Pollock and F. W. Maitland, The History of English Law (Cambridge, 1952).
? W. Prest, The Inns of Court (London, 1972).

456

Tradition and innovation

university ever taught a ‘modern’ vernacular language, so at this point
also the universities failed to meet an obvious need. That they recognized
this fact can be inferred from the existence in Oxford in about AD 1300
of teachers who taught ‘the art of writing, composing documents, and
speaking the Gallic language’, and who worked in some agreement with
the university.‘° These teachers promised by an oath to keep the univer-
sity statutes, and they paid an annual amount of money to indemnify
the masters of the faculty of arts; this meant that the university in prin-
ciple admitted an obligation to teach an unusual subject, but farmed it
Out to persons outside the faculties. When in 1362 English was
introduced as the offical language of the courts, the former motivation
for this extramural teaching was removed and it is not known if it
continued.

THE FACULTY OF ARTS: THE IMPACT OF HUMANISM

In the faculty of arts, too, ‘modern’ or contemporary languages were
neglected and Latin was dominant both as the universal language of
scholars in the West and as the only language to which philological and
literary attention was paid. Roman authors and poets had an acknowl-
edged status and their works were extensively used for the teaching of
rhetoric in the trivium. Yet in the universities rhetoric was somewhat
obscured by both grammar and dialectic.

Humanism, whose origins and developments are described in the Epi-
logue to volume I, led to an indubitable revival of the discipline of rhet-
oric after its relative neglect during the preceding centuries. This was
only natural, since this discipline was directly concerned with literary
texts which were at the centre of humanistic interests.

However, the humanistic movement was more than a philological
revival. It went hand in hand with a new philosophy of man, the first
traces of which may be found in Petrarch’s concept of the ‘good life’ as
the goal of education. With the historians the same tendency led to the
analysis of the historical process more in terms of immanent political
causes than of ultimate theological perspectives — a secularization of his-
tory which found its perfect expression in Machiavelli’s Historia Fioren-
tina (1525). Yet this philosophical movement found little resonance in
the universities; its adepts preferred to gather in private circles, the best

0-H. Rashdall, The Universities of Europe in the Middle Ages, ed. F. M. Powicke and A.
B. Emden, vol. m1 (Oxford, 1936; reprint, London, 1942-58; reprint Oxford, 1988),
162; H. G. Robinson, ‘Business Training in Medieval Oxford’, American Historical
Review, 46 (1941), 259-80; B. Bischoff, ‘The Study of Foreign Languages in the Middle
Ages’, Speculum, 36 (1961), 209-24; on legal language see W. Stubbs, The Consti-
tutional History of England, vol. 1 (Oxford, 1877), 414 and M. McKisack, The Four-
teenth Century (Oxford, 1959), 524.

457

Olaf Pedersen

known of which was the so-called Florentine or Platonic Academy of
scholars connected with the court of Lorenzo de Medici and with Marsi-
lio Ficino (d. 1499) as the central figure.’’ It was a rather exclusive
society of scholars whose influence was, however, greatly extended
through their printed works, the introduction of the printed book being
one of the major factors in the spread of both old and new learning. The
art of printing spread like fire, with the result that, in the period of the
incunabula, practically all European countries had one or more presses
in operation. The many thousand titles appearing during this early
period reveal the existence of a very great and diversified market for
printed books in all fields. Most popular were liturgical works. There
were 1,200 editions of the Missal, 400 of the Breviary, about 100 of the
Bible in Latin and 30 versions in vernacular languages.'* But there were
also 3,000 books (comprising 1,000 titles by 650 different authors) on
mathematics, science, astrology, technology and medicine. Classical
authors appeared in great numbers,’’ and also many primers of grammar
and arithmetic for schoolchildren.

For a while, the great book collectors of the fifteenth century looked
askance at the new books, which lacked the aesthetic qualities of the
carefully executed and illuminated manuscript. But the common herd of
scholars hailed the new invention with enthusiasm as a wonderful means
of producing cheap textbooks. The first book printed in France appeared
in 1470 from a press set up by the Sorbonne.'* However, there were
other than aesthetic misgivings. Around 1464, the astronomer Johannes
Regiomontanus (d. 1476) pointed out that the new invention would not
only make the truth more easily accessible; it would also multiply and
perpetuate errors when careless printers hastily produced printed ver-
sions of faulty manuscripts they happened to possess.’? This explains
why the art of textual criticism spread in the wake of the printing press.
The problem of producing good texts of real use for scholars led to the
collaboration between philological experts and the great printing-houses
established around the turn of the century. In Paris, Henri Estienne was
assisted by Lefévre d’Etaples who was the foremost Graecist in the
country. In Basle, Frobenius collaborated with Erasmus of Rotterdam,

"A. Della Torre, Storia dell’Accademia platonica di Firenze (Florence, 1902); P. O. Kris-
teller, The Philosophy of Marsilio Ficino (New York, 1943). See p. 9 n. 5.

C. F. Bihler, The University and the Press in Fifteenth-Century Bologna (Notre Dame,
Ind., 1958), 26.

"3 A. D. Klebs, ‘Incunabula scientifica et medica’, Osiris, 4 (1938), 1-359; cf. M. Bingham
Stillwell, The Awakening Interest in Science during the First Century of Printing 1450-
1550 (New York, 1970).

4 A. Claudin, The First Paris Press. An Account of the Books Printed for G. Fichet and
J. Heynlin in the Sorbonne, 1470-1472 (London, 1898).

'S On this episode see O. Pedersen, ‘The Decline and Fall of the Theorica Planetarum’,
Studia Copernicana, 16 (1978), 157-86.

458

Tradition and innovation

and in Venice, Aldus Manutius specialized in the printing of Greek
books from texts prepared by a whole score of scholars in the pay of his
firm. In this way the invention of printing helped to provide the learned
world with the new humanistic discipline of classical philology."

In the world at large the printed book made an even greater impact.
It greatly helped to reduce the already declining illiteracy of the non-
academic population by providing an increasing stream of books in the
vernacular. Of the 500 first books appearing in Bologna no less than
104 were in Italian.’’ An even greater proportion was reached by Wil-
liam Caxton in London who printed 74 books in English out of a total
of about 90.'* This business forced the printers to decide on the dialect
they would use. Caxton chose that of London and the Home Counties,
which soon became a national language, just as modern Italian emerged
from the Tuscan dialect favoured by most printers in Italy. Thus the
press helped to develop a feeling of national identity in great nations
and to preserve it among smaller linguistic groups; the Dutch nation
owes much to the first Bible printed in this language (1477), just as
Catalan may well have been saved from extinction by the existence of a
literature printed in the vernacular.

In an even wider perspective the printed book became the obvious
medium for the great intellectual or popular movements in sixteenth-
century Europe. In Italy, humanism had already emerged and prospered
in the period of the manuscripts, but north of the Alps it was definitely
propagated by the printed word; and while, in the beginning, the Refor-
mation spread in the old way by wandering scholars who had visited
Wittenberg, it soon developed into a huge battle of books, pamphlets
and broadsheets in the vernacular. It would never have penetrated the
populations at large without the popular appeal of cheap publications
which everyone could afford, such as Luther’s catechism which, for cen-
turies to come, was found in every schoolchild’s satchel in all the north-
ern countries of Europe.’”

Thus the art of printing became an immense stimulus to all aspects of
life and no particular field escaped its influence. But above all it pro-
duced a general change of attitude. Scholars had always tried to share
new ideas with their colleagues and students. Now the printing press
and the use of the vernacular made it possible and natural to share such
ideas with that ever-increasing multitude of people in all strata of society

‘© FE, J. Kenney, The Classical Text (Berkeley, Calif., 1974); B. Weinberg, A History of
Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance, 2 vols. (Chicago, Ill., 1962).

” Buhler, The University and the Press (note 12), 34 n. 24.

18'S. M. Steinberg, Five Hundred Years of Printing (London, 1955), 71 n. 23.

19 E. L. Eisenstein, ‘L’avénement de |’imprimerie et la Réforme. Une nouvelle approche
au probléme du démembrement de la Chrétienté occidentale’, Annales. Economies,
Sociétés, Civilisations, 26 (1971), 1355-82.

459

Olaf Pedersen

who had access to books. The growing intensity of public debate over
the following centuries can be explained only against this background.”°

Two special causes contributed to increase the pressure of humanism
on the universities. The first was its penetration into pre-university teach-
ing through schools designed to give the children of the affluent and
educated citizens of the cities a more general education than that pro-
vided by the traditional grammar schools. A good example is the ‘acad-
emy’ created in Mantua by Vittorino Ramboldini da Feltre (d. 1499),
who in 1425 left the University of Padua in order to educate the children
of Duke Francesco di Gonzaga in a school or ‘academy’ together with
other boys and girls from the city, a programme which was, in many
ways, a revival of the ancient Greek idea of a paideia which prepared
young people for a ‘good life’ in a way that presented an attractive
alternative to the theoretical education of the universities. The teaching
was based on classical literary texts which were analysed and memorized
and paid attention to language and style; composition in prose and verse
was also practised, and during recreational hours the pupils performed
physical exercises such as gymnastics, fencing and riding. The foun-
dation of such schools obviously pointed to the risk that the whole
humanistic movement would bypass the universities.”'

The increasing interest in biblical studies underlined the importance of
Hebrew and Greek. Already Valla had published a set of New Testament
commentaries based on both the Latin Vulgata and three Greek manu-
scripts. This made the ‘new learning’ relevant for theology, and in 1498
Cardinal Ximenes took the unprecedented step of founding (or perhaps
refounding) the University of Alcala (Madrid) for the purpose of
reforming the teaching of theology through a number of radical inno-
vations. Thus there were no fewer than two faculties of arts organized
along humanistic lines; Roman law was abolished and canon law trans-
ferred to the faculty of divinity, the professors of which were also given
the task of producing a polyglot edition of the whole Bible, reproducing
the received text of the Vulgata along with versions in the original lan-
guages, Hebrew, Greek and Syriac. This great work in six volumes was
finished in 1517; volume 5 from 1514 contained the first printed version
of the Greek New Testament, which thus antedated the edition made
by Erasmus of Rotterdam by two years.”*

20 E. L. Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1979);
L. Febvre and H. J. Martin, L’Apparition du livre (Paris, 1958); J. Carter and P. H.
Muir, Printing and the Mind of Man (London, 1967).

21 On the school at Mantua see R. C. Jebb in The Cambridge Modern History, vol. 1
(Cambridge, 1934), 556ff.

2 K. J. von Hefele, Der Cardinal Ximenes (Tiibingen, 1844; English translation, London,
1885); see also B. Hall, ‘Biblical Scholarship: Editions and Commentaries’, in S. L.
Greenslade (ed.), The Cambridge History of the Bible. The West from the Reformation
to the. Present Day (Cambridge, 1963), 5off.

460

Tradition and innovation

In other countries the new learning gradually penetrated the universit-
ies in a More inconspicuous way, usually promoted by wandering schol-
ars who had visited Italy (see volume 1, Epilogue). In Germany, the
Dutch scholar Rudolph Agricola (d. 1485) became the first professor of
Greek in Heidelberg. The study of Hebrew was put on a sure footing by
Johannes Reuchlin (d. 1522), whose chequered career comprised some
periods of teaching in Basle, Ingolstadt and Tiibingen, provoking the first
bitter fight between adherents of the new learning and the supporters of
the traditional system represented by the Dominicans at the University
of Cologne.

In Paris, the study of Greek was firmly established by the Byzantine
scholar John Lascaris (1445-1535), who had previously brought a couple
of hundred Greek manuscripts from Constantinople to the court of
Lorenzo de Medici, and who later erected a Greek printing press for Pope
Leo X. In England, in about 1509, John Colet (1466/7—-1519) founded a
school for boys in London in which Greek was taught for the first time.
He and his friend Thomas More were instrumental in bringing Erasmus to
England, where their combined activity promoted the study of Greek in
both universities, not without opposition from the “Troyans’ in Oxford
(1518).”° The introduction of the new languages went more smoothly in
Louvain, where in about 1517 the foundation of a new Collegium Tri-
lingue for Greek, Latin and Hebrew made this university for a time the
principal seat of humanistic learning in western Europe.

While humanistic tendencies were able to make some impact on uni-
versity teaching, by their own force it is doubtful whether they would have
won their quick victory in the sixteenth century without the intervention
of political forces which now joined the battle for a modernized cur-
riculum. In France this happened in 1530, when the famous Greek scholar
Guillaume Budé (1467-1540) moved King Francis I to found a new cor-
poration of lecteurs royaux in Greek, Latin and Hebrew nominated
directly by the king and independent of the University of Paris, although
clearly inspired by the Collegium Trilingue at Louvain; later, other
disciplines were added, and the Collége Royal became known as the
principal centre of advanced studies in France. As the Collége de France it
was the only one among the higher institutions of learning which survived
the French Revolution. But it was never a dangerous alternative to the
university since it neither examined nor conferred degrees.**

23 See the letter from Thomas More to the University of Oxford, defending the study of
Greek, 29 March 1518, in: T. More, Selected Letters, ed. E. F. Rogers (New Haven,
Con./London, 1967), 94-103.

4 A. Lefranc, Le Collége de France (1530-1930). Livre jubilaire composé a l’occasion de
son quatriéme centenaire (Paris, 1932); A. Lefranc, Histoire du Collége de France depuis
ses origines jusqu’a la fin du Premier Empire (Paris, 1893); H. De Vocht, History of
the Foundation and the Rise of the Collegium Trilingue Lovaniense 1517-1555, 4 vols.
(Louvain, 1951-5).

461

Olaf Pedersen

The new learning was promoted by the political powers in England
also, although in a somewhat different way. Already in 1502-3, the
Lady Margaret Beaufort (the mother of King Henry VII) had endowed
two new lectureships in theology in Oxford and Cambridge, in collabor-
ation with her confessor John Fisher, who became the first incumbent
of the lectureship in Cambridge before becoming chancellor of the uni-
versity in 1504. He was favourably disposed towards biblical humanism
and helped Erasmus to obtain the Lady Margaret lectureship in Cam-
bridge in 1511. In this way this post became the first Greek chair in the
university. The next step was taken by King Henry VIII who, in 1535,
by a royal injunction, imposed on each college the obligation of daily
public lectures in both Greek and Latin. This measure seems to have
been superseded in 1540 by the creation in Cambridge of five regius
professorships in divinity, civil law, medicine, Greek, and Hebrew. In
1546 the same five chairs were created in Oxford. They were all lavishly
endowed with spoils from the dissolved monasteries, giving the teaching
of two of the new humanistic disciplines an attractive status in the uni-
versities. History had to wait until the following century when, in 1622,
William Camden founded a chair in this discipline in Oxford; in 1628
a similar chair was created in Cambridge.?°

In Germany the Lutheran universities were reorganized on lines laid
out by Philip Melanchthon, who was, as a former pupil of Reuchlin,
deeply influenced by the humanistic movement and in 1518 became the
first professor of Greek at Wittenberg. His inaugural lecture contained
a complete programme for a university reform based on humanist prin-
ciples; keeping the formal system of the liberal arts as the framework,
Melanchthon stressed the absolute necessity of the knowledge of Greek
for both theology and philosophy; it is significant that the latter disci-
pline, besides moral and natural philosophy, also comprised history.”
In Wittenberg history was taught by Melanchthon himself, later assisted
by Gaspar Peucer. When Melanchthon supervised the creation of the
new University of Marburg (1529), it was provided with no fewer than
ten chairs in the arts — two in rhetoric, and one in each of the subjects
of Greek, Hebrew, dialectics, grammar, poetry, history, physics, and
mathematics (including astronomy). Similar curricula were gradually
introduced elsewhere as testimony to the fact that humanistic ideas of

*° On the regius chairs see J. Bass Mullinger, The University of Cambridge, vol. u
(Cambridge, 1884), 52ff.; C. E. Mallet, History of the University of Oxford, vol. 1
(London, 1924), 71; cf. K. Sharpe, ‘The Foundation of the Chairs of History at Oxford
and Cambridge: an Episode in Jacobean Politics’, History of Universities, 2 (1982),
127-52. See also chapter 5, p. 211.

26 P. Melanchthon, ‘Dissertatio de corrigendis adulescentiae studiis’, Opera omnia, ed. H.
Brettschneider, vol. rx (Braunschweig, 1843), cols. 15-25; cf. his ‘De artibus liberalibus
(1517), Opera omnia, ed. H. Brettschneider, vol. rx (Braunschweig, 1843), cols. 5-14.

462

Tradition and innovation

education had now come into their own. Thus the university ended by
gaining the victory in the long battle with the humanist movement. As
far as the trivium was concerned, the faculty of arts in the Protestant
countries was able to meet the challenge. Compelled by scholarly forces
ffom within and political and social pressures from without, it was able
to overcome its shortcomings and reform its curriculum in such a way
that no alternatives to university education in this area became
necessary.

However, in-certain cases, and in particular in Catholic countries like
southern Germany, France, Spain and Italy, this necessary mutation of
the courses favoured a special institution, the college. Colleges had
emerged in the medieval universities of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries as pious foundations for housing poor students. Towards the
end of the Middle Ages and in the sixteenth century this system devel-
oped along the lines already known from the Parisian Collége de Nav-
arre (founded 1304) and the schools of the Brethren of the Common
Life in the Netherlands. The more important colleges engated a staff of
regent masters who taught within the college so that it became more or
less useless for students to frequent the ordinary university lectures, with
the traditional faculties tending to become institutions only for confer-
ring degrees. The faculties of arts and, to a lesser extent, of theology
suffered most from this competition from the colleges.

Apart ffom the right to confer degrees and certain other privileges,
there was no great difference between the colleges that were integrated
in the universities and those which were created in non-university towns.
They all represented a new intellectual orientation towards the humani-
ties, with grammar and rhetoric in the place of honour, but without
abandoning more philosophical subjects. They also used a more
advanced pedagogy with students divided into ‘classes’. This met the
demands of the humanistic ideas which the old faculties found it difficult
to satisfy. The many colleges founded in the modern age by new religious
orders such as the Jesuits and the Oratorians might or might not have
been incorporated into existing universities; but they, too, were obvious
signs of the success of this new concept of education that clearly broke
with the traditional separation of a ‘secondary’ education in colleges for
the humanities and a ‘superior’ education still dominated by the univer-
sity.”” As far as the scientific disciplines of the guadrivium were con-
cerned, the expansion of the colleges was not sufficient to remedy the
obvious shortcomings of the medieval university.”*®

27 M.-M. Compére, Du collége au lycée (1500-1850). Généalogie de l’enseignement
secondaire francais (Paris, 1985). See also chapters 4, 7 and 8.
J. McConica, ‘The Rise of the Undergraduate College’, in History of Oxford III, 1-68.

463

Olaf Pedersen

In England the college system developed in a somewhat different way.
In medieval Oxford and Cambridge, students often lived together in self-
contained hostels or ‘halls’, while the colleges were usually created for
communities of regent masters or students of the higher faculties. Many
of the latter group left after the Reformation, and the colleges opened
their doors to ‘undergraduates’ as well as to masters, while the number
of halls dwindled to next to nothing. Thus emerged the college structure
which has prevailed in the older universities until the present.

THE FACULTY OF ARTS: THE CHALLENGE OF TECHNOLOGY

Medieval science had made considerable progress within the pale of the
quadrivium, both in theoretical disciplines like mathematics and astron-
omy, and in physical subjects such as optics and magnetism, where
experimental methods were fruitfully used. This led to a number of prac-
tical innovations which gradually made a deep impact on everyday life,
such as the invention of spectacles in the thirteenth and the introduction
of the mechanical clock in the fourteenth century. But in general, the
interaction between science and technology was weak. No medieval uni-
versity had laboratories and none dreamed of installing them even in
the fifteenth century, when the great period of university building began.
No doubt the guadrivium would have developed much further if it had
been blessed with means of the same order of magnitude as those later
invested in anatomical theatres.

The whole economic structure of late medieval society implied a tech-
nical world of craftsmen and artisans increasingly organized in corpor-
ations or guilds provided with rights and privileges guaranteed by the
political authorities. Each guild comprised one single craft so that their
numbers increased in step with the technical complexity of society. The
purpose of the guilds was to protect their members from competition
from unorganized labour and to uphold a certain professional standard.
This implied a regular education of apprentices in the workshops of a
senior member of the guild who was already an approved master. In
this way medieval technology became increasingly encapsulated in closed
units which tried as far as possible to keep the professional methods
secret, in contrast to the public teaching of schools and universities.

This dichotomy between practical and theoretical education was, nat-
urally, an obstacle to a fruitful interaction between science and technol-
ogy. The education of a master craftsman lasted longer than that of a
master of arts and there are few, if any, examples of persons who ‘gradu-
ated’ in both fields. However, the consequences were not immediately
apparent; thus the first great astronomical clock was constructed at St

464

Tradition and innovation

Albans (England) by Abbot Richard of Wallingford, who was an Oxford
scholar.’’ But from the fifteenth century onwards it became increasingly
clear that the technical problems of a rapidly changing society presented
a challenge with which the quadrivium of the universities was unable
to cope.

Navigation and cartography were some of the first areas in which this
failure became apparent. In the Middle Ages European sea trade was lim-
ited to the Mediterranean and the western coasts of Europe, where simple
pilots’ books with descriptions of coastlines and landmarks were sufficient
guides. Nevertheless, Mediterranean trade gave rise to a remarkable devel-
opment of cartography in the form of portolani or ‘haven-finding’ charts
drawn by pilots with practical experience. They represented a drastic
departure from the usually wheel-shaped mappae mundi produced by
scholars. Thus the Carte Pisane from about 1275 had a rectangular grid
superimposed on the coastlines of the Mediterranean; a century later the
great Atlas Catalane mapped the whole Mediterranean on a set of charts
provided with bundles of lines showing sailing directions presupposing the
use of the compass (which had been introduced in the twelfth century).
The universities took no account of this innovation, and only the rediscov-
ery and Latin translation of Ptolemy’s Geography in the beginning of the
fifteenth century by humanist scholars in Italy made the principles of
mathematical cartography known to mathematicians.”

From the early decades of the fifteenth century Portuguese sailors
began to explore the western coast of Africa. In 1474 they crossed the
Equator for the first time and eight years later they established the first
European colony at El Mina. The unknown winds and currents of this
area made it imperative to give pilots and sea captains an extended
knowledge of hydrography; but it is characteristic that the authorities
responsible for the new adventures never asked the University of Coim-
bra to create a department of navigation for this purpose. Instead, Henry
the Navigator (d. 1460) established a Casa de Guinea e India at Cape
St Vincent (Sagres). It was a hydrographic office charged with the
drawing and correcting of charts, and with the development and testing
of instruments for navigation. In 1484 King John II formed a special
commission to develop astronomical methods of determining the latitude
at sea by observations of the sun. After the discovery of America in
1492, the Spanish government adopted a similar course by creating its

29 J. D. North, Richard of Wallingford, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1976): on the clock at St Albans
see vol. 1, 441-523 and vol. m1, 309-70.

*° L. Bagrow, Geschichte der Kartographie (Berlin, 1951). On navigation see E. G. R.
Taylor, The Haven-Finding Art (London, 1956).

465

Olaf Pedersen

own hydrographic institution at Seville, called the Casa de la
Contratacion.”'

In this way Spain and Portugal showed how an urgent need could be met
by establishing specialized schools with no connection with the universit-
ies. In the following period all seafaring nations created their own schools
of navigation, sometimes sponsored by governments, but in other cases
financed by private means. It is true that these institutions sometimes had
university graduates on their staff. Thus the famous Pedro Nufies (d.
1578) had a degree in medicine from Salamanca before he was made Royal
Cosmographer (1529), professor of mathematics at Coimbra (1544) and
cosmographer-in-chief (1547), just as the great sixteenth-century car-
tographer Gerard Mercator (d. 1594) had studied theology at Louvain
before he was privately educated in mathematics by Gemma Frisius, who
was a medical practitioner in the same town. However, it became increas-
ingly clear that the scientific skills of people in the practical world had to
be acquired in specialized institutions or from the many private ‘math-
ematical practitioners’ of the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries who con-
tributed so much to non-university education.”

This development of navigation and cartography is only one instance of
a general trend which can be observed also among the wealthy citizens of
the great trading towns, who became aware of the necessity of giving an
advanced education to people of their own class without waiting for the
universities to reform their curriculum or admitting other than grammar
and public school boys to their faculties. A spectacular example was pro-
vided by the London merchant, Sir Thomas Gresham (d. 1579), who had
established the Royal Exchange (1565) and who is also remembered as
one of the founders of economic theory. He left his fortune to the establish-
ment of Gresham College, which opened in London in 1597 with seven
chairs in astronomy, geometry, medicine, law, theology, rhetoric and
music. The lectures were open to all.*’ The institution became in this way
a kind of public university and a reminder to Oxford and Cambridge that
there were classes in society which they had ignored.

Another field of increasing importance during these centuries was
engineering, both civil and military. Here we can only briefly indicate
how a number of new and urgent problems were solved in a variety of
ways, some of which had a significant impact on the system of education
in general.

31 Pulido Hurtado, La Casa de la Contratacion de las Indias (Madrid, 1907); J. P. Rubio,
El piloto mayor de la Casa de la Contratacion de Sevilla (Sevilla, 1923).

2 E. G. R. Taylor, The Mathematical Practitioners of Tudor and Stuart England
(Cambridge, 1954).

33 F, R. Johnson, ‘Gresham College, Precursor of the Royal Society’, Journal of the History
of Ideas, 1 (1940), 413-38.

466

Tradition and innovation

With respect to the construction of buildings, the master builder of
the Middle Ages had been both the architect and the conductor of the
work, learning his craft in the guild of stonemasons. But in the later
period a more specialized technical knowledge proved useful. For
instance, it is interesting to notice that Brunelleschi (d. 1446) was only
entrusted with the work of finishing the Cathedral of Florence because
he knew how to build an enormous crane with which the cupola could
be constructed without an expensive scaffolding.** How far mechanical
technology advanced in this period can be seen in the sketch-books of
Leonardo da Vinci (d. 1569), who not only made drawings of his own
inventions but also gave a kind of unsystematic catalogue of the whole
range of medieval machinery in general.

The problem of power supply was, to a large extent, solved by the
millwright who erected both watermills and windmills and practised his
craft on a purely empirical basis. That was also the case of the builders
of bridges, roads, canals and locks. As for the mining of ore and coal,
new problems emerged in the late Middle Ages when shafts became
deeper and production often had to stop because of flooding of the gal-
leries. This made it imperative to construct pumps and other waterlifting
devices, many types of which are depicted in the De re metallica (1530)
of Georg Agricola (d. 1555), who was physician to the mining com-
munity of Joachimsthal.*°

In the sixteenth century the theoretical foundation of mechanical tech-
nology was, to a large extent, established by scholars of a decidedly
practical bent. Machines of every kind depended on the science of statics.
This was by no means unknown to the Middle Ages, but usually taught
as a branch of mathematics without regard to its technical applications.
In the sixteenth century some progress was made in Italy by the self-
taught or privately educated scholars Tartaglia (d. 1559) and Benedetti
(d. 1590), and in particular by the Marchese Guid’Ubaldo del Monte (d.
1607), who had studied mathematics in Padua before serving the House
of the Medici as a military engineer until he withdrew to a quiet exist-
ence as a private gentleman-scholar. Similarly, the handling of water led
to the science of hydrostatics and hydraulics, which was put on a sure
footing by Simon Stevin (d. 1620), who was trained in the army and
worked as a public engineer for the Dutch government. At a later date
the problem of draining the mines led to the invention of the steam

*4 F. D. Drager, ‘Brunelleschi’s Inventions’, Osiris, 9 (1950), 547-54.

3° The most complete general survey of the technical development in this period is vol. m
of Ch. Singer, E. J. Homyard, A. R. Hall and T. I. Williams (eds.), History of Technol-
ogy (Oxford, 1957), in particular chapters 3 on mining (J. U. Nef), 4 on windmills (R.
Wailes), 12 on drainage (L. E. Harris), 13 on machines (A. P. Usher), 14 on military
technology (A. R. Hall), 20 on cartography, surveying and navigation (E. G. R. Taylor),
and 23 on scientific instruments (D. J. Price).

467

Olaf Pedersen

pump and the development of the atmospheric steam engine by Savery
(d. 1715), whose education is unknown, and Newcomen (d. 1729), who
was taught by a nonconformist minister before he became an ‘iron-
monger’ in Dartmouth.

Military technology had problems of its own. The introduction of can-
nons in the fourteenth century revolutionized medieval artillery and gave
rise to problems of ballistics which were intractable in terms of Aristotel-
ian mechanics and which no doubt contributed to its final downfall in the
seventeenth century, when in 1638 Galileo (d. 1642) published the first
modern (although approximate) theory of the motion of projectiles. The
use of firearms had repercussions on the art of fortification, which devel-
oped into a branch of practical geometry; fortresses had to be so designed
as to be as invulnerable to bombardment as possible, whilst allowing the
garrison to employ its own fire at a maximum. On the other hand, the art
of attacking a fortress by mining and sapping presupposed the ability to
‘navigate’ underground, as it were, by means of the compass and methods
of trigonometry known from ordinary surveying.

Fortification was, to some extent, taught by professors of mathematics
in the sixteenth and following centuries. This proved insufficient and
impracticable since very few officers were qualified to matriculate;
although many of them came from the nobility and had some previous
education, the life of the army and the university were incompatible. In
many cases they acquired the required mathematical knowledge through
private tuition, sometimes by university teachers who in this way sup-
plemented their meagre income as professors of the arts. Galileo’s pri-
vate activity in Padua is a typical example of this. Perhaps only in the
Dutch universities from the late sixteenth century onwards did a higher
vocational education co-exist with theoretical scientific education. Prince
Maurice, the son of William the Silent, both Stadtholders of the Dutch
Republic, founded a (military) engineering school for the training of
competent land-surveyors and fortress-builders whom he needed in his
war against Spain. Despite the fact that the lectures were given in Dutch,
the ‘Duytsche Mathematicque’, as the school was called, was established
on the fringe of the University of Leiden. The famous engineer Simon
Stevin drew up the curriculum for the school (1600). After a theoretical
training in mathematical subjects, the students spent a period on practi-
cal work, sometimes in the army. The same kind of professional edu-
cation was also given at the other Dutch universities.

In the seventeenth century a more regular military education was
established in the form of officers’ schools or military academies — out-

6 P, J. van Winter, Hoger beroepsonderwijs avant-la-lettre. Bemoetingen met de vorming
van landmeters en ingenieurs bij de Nederlandse universiteiten van de 17e en 18e eeuw
(Amsterdam/Oxford/Paris, 1988).

468

Tradition and innovation

side the universities — where all aspects of the art of war were presented,
including not only fortification and gunnery, but also such mechanical
technology as was necessary for the construction of bridges or special
machinery, besides some cartography and surveying. Considering the
number of scientists who had their first lessons in mathematics and stat-
istics at military schools, one cannot deny that this special type of non-
university education had, in fact, some impact on the development of
science in general. A side-effect of the use of firearms was also that six-
teenth-century surgery profited from the gruelling experiences of military
surgeons, and that military horse-surgery became one of the principal
points of departure for veterinary science in general.

The navigational schools in Portugal and Spain, as well as the military
academies all over Europe, pointed the way to the solution of the prob-
lems of technical education. The final stage was reached in the eighteenth
century and realized in a way which clearly reveals the extent to which
the universities were now ignored. They were never asked to establish
technical or polytechnic faculties and never themselves proposed to take
such a step. Instead, governments everywhere preferred to establish spec-
ialized schools for one particular discipline after another, with only a
few institutions of a more comprehensive nature such as the technical
college in Prague (1717) or the Collegium Carolinum in Braunschweig
(1745) being set up. In 1744-7 the military corps of road and bridge
engineers in France was replaced by the Ecole des Ponts et Chaussées.
Mining academies were established in 1735/62 at Selmecbanya
(Hungary), in 1765 at Freiberg (Saxony), in 1775 at Clausthal (Hanover)
and in 1783 at Paris. The first veterinary High School was created in
1766 at Alfort (France) and was soon followed by similar schools at
Vienna (1776), Hanover (1778) and Copenhagen (1778).°”

The failure of the guadrivium to respond to the challenge from tech-
nology also reflected a failure of the prevailing theory of the liberal arts
as such. These ‘arts’ were usually thought of as a series of specific disci-
plines, but not as general areas of knowledge. The quadrivium was envis-
aged as four specific mathematico-physical disciplines, but not as a
general ‘science of nature’. This made it impossible in practice to extend
it with those natural sciences which were not (or not yet) subjected to a
mathematical treatment.

This explains the fact that the most remarkable extensions of the
scientific curriculum were provoked by the faculty of medicine, but with-
out support from the quadrivium sector of faculty of arts. This is very
obvious in the case of botany, which had been founded in Antiquity as

37 For Germany see K. Goldmann, Die deutschen technischen Hochschulen (Munich,
1942) and his Verzeichnis der Hochschulen (Neustadt an der Aisch, 1967).

469

Olaf Pedersen

a general science of plants by Aristotle’s disciple Theophrastus. Later its
scope was usually restricted to the lore of medicinal herbs which formed
the principal part of the materia medica of the Middle Ages. But in the
sixteenth century botany was, as it were, refounded as a general science
by a series of scholars who had some connections with medicine. Otto
Brunfels (d. 1534) and Jean Bauhin (d. 1613) were medical practitioners;
Valerius Cordus (d. 1544) was professor of medicine in Wittenberg and
Gaspard Bauhin (d. 1624) was prorfessor at the medical faculty in Basle,
where he taught anatomy and botany and occupied the chair of Greek.
At the same time zoology was promoted by Conrad Gessner (d. 1565),
who had taught Greek at the Academy of Lausanne before he became
physician to the town of Zurich.**

When the French King Henry IV created a chair of botany plus
anatomy at Montpellier (1593), the new discipline was recognized as
an academic subject in its own right. Contributing to this success was
the establishment of botanical gardens, first by individual professors,
but soon by the medical faculties as such. The first may have been
created in Pisa (1545) by Luca Chini (d. 1556). It was followed by
Padua (1546) and Bologna (after 1561) and then by one European
university after another. This considerable economic investment in
material for teaching and research could only have been made by the
medical faculty.

THE EXODUS OF THE SCIENTISTS

The increasing interest in science in the world outside the faculty of arts
was accompanied by a growing feeling of frustration and unrest within
the walls of the faculty itself. How serious the situation was is well
illustrated by the exodus of scientists through which the universities lost
a long series of the pioneers of scientific development who realized that
what they wanted to do could best be done in a different intellectual
environment. The first instances of this trend can be observed in astron-
omy although, or perhaps because, this science had, better than many
others, been able to develop in a positive way ever since the twelfth
century. Among other things, it had in some places obtained a separate
chair in the faculty of arts (Cracow 1394).

In the 1450s, astronomy was taught in Vienna by George Peurbach
(1423-61), who had been deeply influenced by the Italian humanists
who had visited the city. In a typical humanistic fashion, he argued that
astronomy could only be reformed and purified from medieval
accretions by a return to its classical sources. In practice this amounted

38M. Mobius, Geschichte der Botanik (Jena, 1937).

470

Tradition and innovation

to the project of a new translation, directly from the Greek, of Ptolemy’s
Almagest which he began in collaboration with his student Johannes
Regiomontanus (1426-76). This plan was interrupted by his untimely
death, after which Regiomontanus succeeded to the chair, only to leave
the following year for Italy with Bessarion. After a stay in Hungary
under the patronage of King Matthias Corvin, he finally settled in Nur-
emberg (1471) in order to pursue a purely scientific career in a town
without a university. Here he erected a small observatory and a printing
press for the publication of calendars and other astronomical and math-
ematical works.°?

Although Regioniontanus also died young, his work was continued
by the wealthy citizen Bernard Walther (d. 1504) who had been his
assistant, and later by Johannes Werner (d. 1522), a priest who had
studied in Ingolstadt and Rome. The institution in Nuremberg rep-
resented something completely new in Latin Europe — a centre for scien-
tific research and publication, undisturbed by teaching, independent of
a university, and sponsored by an influential local patron. As such it was
a sign of things to come. Since Regiomontanus could have stayed on in
Vienna, his decision to leave the university system for good must have
sprung from the conviction that astronomy would profit by being sev-
ered from the faculty of arts, without regard to the fact that the univer-
sity thus lost one of the best astronomers and mathematicians of the
century.

The case of Copernicus (1473-1543) was somewhat different, but
equally illuminating as to the changing relations between science and the
universities. He was educated in the arts in Cracow, where astronomy
was flourishing no less than in Vienna. From there he went to Padua to
follow courses in medicine, spent some time with the astronomer
Domenico Maria da Novara in Bologna, until he obtained a degree in
canon law in Ferrara in 1503. He then left the university for good,
spending the remaining forty years of his life as administrator of the vast
diocese of Ermland, and there is no evidence that he ever wished to be
more closely connected with the scientific establishment of his time. The
point is that this isolation did not prevent his writing one of the most
influential books of the sixteenth century.*°

The scientific problems raised by Copernican astronomy aroused
much interest among university astronomers, but it is a significant fact
that the two principal contributions to their solution came from out-
side. Tycho Brahe (1546-1601) realized, first, that the ‘restoration’ of

%° E, Zinner, Leben und Wirken des Johannes Miiller, genannt Regiomontanus (Munich,
1938), 27.

4° The literature on Copernicus is overwhelming. Most results of recent research are found
in the series of Studia Copernicana (Wroctaw/Warsaw/Cracow, 1970ff. ).

471

Olaf Pedersen

astronomy must begin with a completely new observational survey of
all celestial phenomena by means of permanently mounted and stable
instruments, and secondly, that such a project could not be adequately
supported by any university. In consequence, he left the University of
Copenhagen (after only a few weeks of teaching) in order to create his
own scientific institution on the island of Hven — complete with a perma-
nent observatory, workshops for instruments, a paper mill and a printing
press. All this was financed by the Danish king who, in this way, invested
more than 1 per cent of the annual income of the government in purely
scientific research.”!

Tycho finished his life in Prague as a ‘court mathematician’ to the
Emperor Rudolf II. Here his treasure of observational records from more
than twenty years of work in Denmark became the basis of the theoreti-
cal investigations of Johannes Kepler (1571-1630), who succeeded in
unravelling the kinematic laws of planetary motions. Kepler was edu-
cated in Tiibingen, but as a somewhat unorthodox Lutheran he was
unable to secure a university position and he, too, achieved his epoch-
making scientific results in the service of the Emperor.

In this connection the career of Galileo is also of interest. He had
worked his way up through the university system from a very poorly
paid and subordinate position in Pisa to a more remunerative chair of
mathematics in Padua. Burdened with much teaching and with too little
time for research, he began underhand negotiations with the Florentine
court in order to become ‘court mathematician’ in Florence, a post to
which he was appointed as soon as his use of the telescope for astro-
nomical observations had established his fame all over Europe (1610).**

The exodus of the scientists from the universities persisted throughout
the seventeenth century. For example, the pioneer anatomist and geol-
ogist Niels Stensen (1638-86) left Copenhagen University after eighteen
months in order to resume his position at the courts of the Medici, and
Isaac Newton (1642-1727) gave up his Cambridge chair to become
Master of the Mint in London. This movement was not, of course, a
general trend, since the majority of scientists still worked within the
traditional framework. Nevertheless, it deprived the universities of a
number of those whom history has marked out as the most outstanding
pioneers of scientific progress.*°

41 J. L. E. Dreyer, Tycho Brahe: a Picture of Scientific Life and Work in the Sixteenth
Century (Edinburgh, 1890; 2nd edn New York, 1963); cf. O. Pedersen, ‘Tycho Brahe
and the Rebirth of Astronomy’, Physica Scripta, 21 (1980), 693-701.

*? The best recent survey of Galileo’s life is by S$. Drake, in Dictionary of Scientific Biogra-
phy, vol. v (New York, 1972), 237-49.

43 G. Scherz, Niels Stensen. Eine Biographie, 2 vols. (Leipzig, 1987-8).

472

Tradition and innovation

It seems that there was more than a single cause of this exodus.
In the case of the Catholic Stensen, there is no doubt that he chose
to return to Florence from Copenhagen because he felt somewhat ill
at ease as an outsider in a Lutheran environment, where even his
possibility of hearing mass (in an embassy chapel) depended on special
royal permission. Also, Kepler’s religious convictions contributed to
keep him away from the universities. But in general the departing
scientists seem to have been motivated by the desire to find sufficient
time and money for research.

This was certainly so in the case of Galileo, whose reasons for leaving
Padua are clearly stated in his correspondence with the Florentine auth-
orities. Having taught in the universities for eighteen years, he felt both
tired and frustrated. Although the burden of his official lectures had
become lightened, his financial obligations to his family could not be
met by his salary so that he was forced to have private students, provided
with board and lodging, and to run a workshop of instruments for sale.
This made his house a noisy place, where it was impossible to concen-
trate and, in particular, to write a number of great works in which he
had planned to publish the results of his investigations in mechanics.
There can be little doubt that many of his colleagues must have felt the
same way.

In the seventeenth century a number of universities tried to stem the
tide by creating new facilities, in particular for astronomers, often on
the initiative of the Jesuits or by emulating their colleges. At the Jesuit
University of Ingolstadt, Christoph Scheiner (d. 1639) had been the first
astronomer to introduce the Keplerian telescope with an equatorial
mounting (for the observation of sunspots); here a turris mathematica
or observatory was built in 1637. On Protestant soil the way was led by
Leiden (1632). In 1642 the township of Utrecht provided the university
with an observatory on the city wall; in the same year the Round Tower
of Copenhagen was finished. In Germany the Lutheran University of
Altdorf near Nuremberg equipped itself in a grand way with a hortus
medicus (1626), an anatomical theatre (1650), an observatory (1657)
and, last but not least, a laboratorium chymicum (1682), one of the first
of its kind. Thus, at least some universities realized the danger of ignor-
ing the material needs of scientific research. Nevertheless, none of the
university observatories was able to compete with the great private
observatory of Johannes Hevelius in Danzig (1641), or with the public
observatories in Paris (1671) and London (Greenwich 1675) created by
the French and English governments, respectively, mainly for the pur-
poses of astronomical navigation. These had no connection with the
universities, in which the governments of the great naval powers seemed

473

Olaf Pedersen

to have lost their faith, at least when it came to serious matters directly
affecting the economy of the country.”

In this way, astronomy became one of the first disciplines in which
teaching and research tended to separate into distinct activities, with
research enjoying government support on a grand scale and teaching
relegated to a more lowly position within poorly endowed faculties. The
same tendency can be observed in other areas of knowledge in which
the forces of separation were silently at work already in the sixteenth
century, when there were far-reaching changes in the role of religion in
the universities.

THEOLOGY

From the very beginning of its existence, the faculty of theology was
placed in a special situation. On the one hand, it addressed itself to
an ecclesiastical discipline of immense importance for the self-
understanding of society as a Christian community united by a common
faith transcending all political divisions. As a result, the faculty was
inevitably involved in the continuous debate over such questions as the
nature of human society, the relations between church and state, and
the ethics of public and private life. Since canon law in general was
founded on a theological basis, the faculty had close relations with the
faculty of law and became, with the latter, the natural forum also for
political and economic thought.

On the other hand, the faculty of theology emerged at a late period
in the history of the church, when it had already institutionalized its
most immediate intellectual task — the education of the clergy — in its
own way. The universities in general appeared as a new type of school
based on the idea of the corporation, which was foreign to canon law
and confusing to the ecclesiastical authorities, as we can see from the
struggles between the chancellor (as an ecclesiastical official) and the
rector (as representing the corporation) for the ultimate control of the
new institution. That the faculty came out on the side of the rector meant
that it was never accepted as an integral part of the structure of the
church, which, on a number of occasions, even regarded the work of an
independent theological school with some suspicion. This may explain
the fact that, until the end of the fourteenth century, the popes were
reluctant to grant theological faculties outside such traditional centres
as Paris, Oxford, and a few other places. It was only after the Great
Schism that there was a veritable proliferation of theological faculties

** ©. Pedersen, ‘Some Early European Observatories’, in A. And and P. Beer (eds.), Vistas

in Astronomy, vol. xx (Oxford, 1976), 17-28. The same volume has historical accounts
of the observatories of Paris and Greenwich.

474

Tradition and innovation

authorized by both popes and anti-popes, in order to obtain as many
supporters as possible among the princes, bishops and towns of Europe.

The established system of clerical education had evolved over many
centuries without being organized in any strictly defined form.* In gen-
eral, each parish church had a patron in the form of a bishop, a monas-
tery, a corporation or even an individual layman, whose duty it was to
find an incumbent for the church and present him for ordination to the
local bishop, who was responsible for his qualifications. The standard
of ecclesiastical education was not very high in the Middle Ages, and it
seems to have decreased in the years after the Black Death, when it
became necessary to supplement the heavily depleted priesthood by
insufficiently educated men just to keep things going. After this period,
complaints about incompetent parsons are heard everywhere, and small
manuals telling parish priests how to perform their duties were in great
demand.

In this situation the faculties of theology were unable to offer any
direct help. They led their students to a licentia docendi through a reg-
ular course of study, whereas the licentia ordinandi (if this expression
can be allowed) remained firmly in the hands of the bishops.

In general the intellectual status of the lower clergy was very low. In
the higher strata of the hierarchy, a university education in theology or
more often in canon law was the rule rather than the exception. But
there is no doubt that the state of the clergy in general was the cause of
much criticism in the late Middle Ages and that there were sporadic
attemps to elevate it; thus a number of new colleges were founded
especially for the training of priests. However, a radical change in the
situation had to await the century of the Reformation, which not only
involved the theological faculties in fierce doctrinal struggles, but also
inaugurated a new era in ecclesiastical education, in which the Roman
Catholic and the Protestant churches went very different ways.

As a fairly typical example of the impact of the Reformation on the
university, we may consider the situation in Denmark, where private
schools for the training of Lutheran ministers appeared in 1526 in a
number of provincial towns. In 1529 one of these schools was author-
ized by the king at the same time as he confiscated the only college
in the University of Copenhagen (a house for Carmelite students). The
following year the Catholic professors were expelled and the university
church stormed by an iconoclastic mob. One year later it proved imposs-
ible to elect a rector and teaching virtually ceased. Thus the university

4S F. W. Oediger, Uber die Bildung der Geistlichen im spdten Mittelalter (Leiden, 1953);
G. Le Bras, ‘Le clergé dans les derniers siécles du Moyen Age’, in G. Bardy, A.-M.
Henry, R. Laprat, G. Le Bras, J.-F. Lemarignier and M.-H. Vicaire, Prétres d’hier et
d’aujourd’hui, Unam Sanctam, fasc. 28 (Paris, 1954), 155-81.

475

Olaf Pedersen

disappeared, to be refounded in 1539 as a purely Lutheran institution,
modelled upon Wittenberg and organized by a German theologian.* A
similar course of events marked the fate of many other universities
within the Lutheran or Reformed areas. At first this had no consequences
for the clergy, and for a time the education of ministers remained the
responsibility of the Reformed cathedral chapters. But in 1564, the elec-
tor of Saxony decreed that no minister be ordained without a university
education. This system soon prevailed in other Lutheran countries,
where the universities were in this way entrusted with an important task
which the medieval university had not been allowed to perform. In a
wider perspective this was one of the most important results of the
Reformation.

In the Reformed churches on French soil the events followed a some-
what different course. Whereas Luther had been able to use the estab-
lished University of Wittenberg as a centre for his activity, John Calvin
had no fixed university basis after his flight from Paris in 1533, together
with the newly elected rector Nicolas Cop, whose inaugural lecture had
revealed his Protestant inclinations. He spent the following years in
Basle, Geneva and Strasburg until, in 1541, he finally settled in Geneva.
At this time the only school for French-speaking Reformed ministers
was the ‘Academy’ of Lausanne, which had been created by the Berne
government after its annexation of the Vaud. As long as this school
functioned, Calvin was unable to realize his project of a Reformed uni-
versity in Geneva, which did not come into existence until 1559. It took
over most of the professors from Lausanne, among them the famous
Hellenist scholar Théodore de Béze, who became the first rector of the
Academia Genevensis.*”

After the University of Geneva was established, it became possible to
obtain teachers for other Calvinistic schools of theology. In 1573 the
University of Orange (then belonging to the Empire) was resuscitated by
the Calvinist Count Louis of Nassau, and a number of minor schools
sprang up at Montpellier, Nimes, Orthez, Montauban, Saumur, Sedan
and Die. They did not develop into complete universities, and for a time
it looked as if the French Calvinists would have to rely on such second-
ary institutions; however, all these schools perished during the campaign
for religious uniformity under Louis XIV. Consequently, the Reformed
students of theology had to go elsewhere, possibly to Heidelberg, or to
one of the Scottish universities where Calvinism had become the pre-

46 §. Ellehoj and L. Grane (eds.), Kobenhavns Universitet 1479-1979, vol. v (Copenhagen,
1980), 68; E. H. Dunkley, The Reformation in Denmark, Church Historical Society
(London, 1958).

4” P. F. Geisendorf, L’Université de Genéve (Geneva, 1959). See also p. 50 on the status
of the Academy of Geneva.

476

Tradition and innovation

dominant theological system, but more usually to the Netherlands,
where in 1575 the Calvinist William of Orange founded the University
of Leiden as a Reformed counterpart to Louvain.

On Catholic soil, the Reformation was often regarded as one of the
effects of the insufficient theological training of the lower clergy, the
improvement of which became a major occupation of the Council of
Trent. But here the problem was attacked in a way which bypassed the
universities in an attempt to modernize the traditional system of
diocesan education. Already in 1546, the fifth session of the Council
decreed that every cathedral chapter should provide the teaching of Latin
grammar and the Holy Scripture for clerics and poor scholars, and in
1553 Ignatius Loyola founded a college in Rome for German ecclesiasti-
cal students. It was admired by Cardinal Pole who, after his return to
England, proposed the establishment of similar colleges, which he
denoted by the name seminaria. At last, in its 23rd session of 1563, the
Council decreed that all cathedral churches should be provided with a
seminarium clericorum designed to give a complete ecclasiastical edu-
cation to boys from the age of 12 — with preference for the poor — until
they were ready for ordination. The curriculum should comprise the
usual liberal arts (as in the universities) and such theological and pastoral
knowledge as would enable them to preach, teach the laity, conduct
divine worship, and administer the sacraments.*®

This long and unbroken tradition shows that the problem of educating
Catholic priests had found a viable solution; but it is difficult to evaluate
the general influence of the seminaries on higher education in Catholic
countries. They certainly fulfilled their purpose of providing the church
with priests who were much better educated and trained than their medi-
eval predecessors; and since their education was paid for by the church,
they were able to attract students also from strata of society for which an
ordinary university education would have been impossible for economic
reasons. On the other hand, many seminaries were run by religious
orders which imposed a more or less monastic discipline on the students,
encapsulating them in an austere and closed world without fruitful con-
tact with that outside society in which they had to perform their later
ministry. In this way not a few scholars and scientists ended up in holy
orders, but sometimes without any deep religious conviction, a cir-
cumstance with far-reaching consequences in the period of the
Enlightenment.

This system was slowly introduced everywhere, under the guidance of
a special commission of cardinals established for this purpose. The first

48 J. O’Donohoe, Tridentine Seminary Legislation. Its Sources and its Formation (Louvain/
Boston, Mass., 1957).

477

Olaf Pedersen

seminary was opened in Rome 1565. It was followed by three seminaries
in the archdiocese of Milan, one of them for priests who wanted to
complete their education. In Germany the first seminary opened in 1564
in Eichstatt; it was followed by Miinster in 1610, after which date the
Thirty Years War created a temporary delay. In France the first attempts
were failures, until 1642 when the first French seminary was established
in Paris. In the eighteenth century, certain seminaries were incorporated
into the universities, such as Nancy or Avignon in France. This also
contributed to the depletion and decline of the faculties of arts and the-
ology. Thereafter the system became universal and existed without sig-
nificant changes until the time of the Second Vatican Council (1962-5).

MINORITY PROBLEMS

The Reformation sharpened the confessional character of higher edu-
cation, which was everywhere forced to conform as closely as possible
to the doctrines of the church which had been established in the country
concerned. The idea of a secular or non-denominational university was
therefore a thing of the future. In Calvinist Geneva, no student in any
subject was admitted unless he signed a profession of faith according to
the official catechism. This rule remained in force until 1576, when the
profession was demanded only from professors and lecturers, whereas
students of other denominations were allowed to matriculate in order
to be able to benefit from the teaching of the Genevan Church. Other
Reformed churches were less accommodating. In the Calvinist academies
of France, students were required to accept under oath the confession
of faith and the discipline of the Reformed churches. In Lutheran univer-
sities in Germany and Scandinavia, adherence to the Augsburg Con-
fession was a necessary condition for admittance, and in the period of
Lutheran orthodoxy even a suspicion of Calvinistic or Catholic sympa-
thies was sufficient to cause a student to be relegated or a professor to
be sacked. In England the two universities were transformed into purely
Anglican institutions and, from the Act of Uniformity and Supremacy
(1559) until the University Test Act (1871), all members were required
to subscribe to the Articles of the Church of England.

Ideally, such restrictions aimed at the religious uniformity of the aca-
demic world within the separate countries as something considered to
be important to the proper functioning of the state. In practice they
produced a multitude of religious minorities in the learned world, at first
consisting of scholars who were immediately deprived of their positions
as a result of the new measures, and later of potential students who
were barred from higher education because of their lack of conformity
with the established religion of their country. The education of such

478

Tradition and innovation

minorities presented a serious problem which their members tried to
solve in various ways.

Where religious discrimination was strictly enforced, the only possibil-
ity was to emigrate to a country in which one’s own faith was tolerated.
Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Europe became
replete with scholars wandering to and fro across the borders according
to the prevailing religious conditions at home and abroad.” Here there
was often a limited choice. For example, Calvinists were not welcome
in Lutheran countries. When religious tolerance declined in seventeenth-
century France, the Huguenot refugees would therefore prefer to go to
Dutch universities where their Calvinist faith was no impediment. In
England the proliferation of nonconformist communions of many differ-
ent kinds created more diversified needs, some of which could be met by
universities in Scotland, Holland, Germany and, in particular, Geneva.

However, England also became the scene of an interesting noncon-
formist alternative to the universities. The so-called Toleration Act of
1689 made it possible for non-Anglicans to create their own schools,
with the result that the number of private dissenting academies greatly
increased.*° These institutions aimed primarily at the training of minis-
ters; but some of them catered for other students as well, often giving
them a surprisingly relevant education in subjects such as mathematics,
French and modern history. Many of them were of short duration and
did not outlive their founders. That they filled a vacuum in the system
of education appears from the number of students which, in some cases,
amounted to about 300, as in the Academy of Richard Frankland at
Rathwell (Yorkshire), which existed from 1669 to 1698 and to some
extent served as a surrogate a northern university. About fifty such
schools are known in the period from about 1660 to 1780. The long
list of their better known students reveals their indubitable contribution
to the intellectual life of the country. It also explains the hostility with
which they were regarded by the Establishment which, rightly or
wrongly, feared them as dangerous alternatives to Oxford and Cam-
bridge and hotbeds for unwanted political and religious ideas.

Roman Catholics in Protestant countries were in a somewhat different
position, since they were never included in the occasional measures of
toleration directed at nonconformist denominations.’* On the other
hand, all the Catholic universities of France, the Southern Netherlands,
Italy and Spain were open to them and ready to accommodate individual

*? On this topic see chapter 10 on student mobility.

°° |, Parker, Dissenting Academies in England (Cambridge, 1914; 2nd edn New York,
1969); J. F. Fulton, ‘The Warrington Academy (1757-1786) and its Influence on Medi-
cine and Science’, Bulletin of Medical History (1933), 50-80.

51 A. C. F. Beales, Education under Penalty (London, 1964).

479

Olaf Pedersen

students. However, in some countries the Reformation had never been
completely victorious and the Catholic faith had persisted to such an
extent that it was necessary to provide priests in greater numbers. This
caused English recusants not only to reopen the old English college in
Rome, which was given university status by Pope Gregory XIII (1576),
but also to create a special college in Douai, a Contra-Reformatorial
university founded by Philip II 15 59/60 and confirmed with a papal bull
authorizing it to create all the traditional four faculties. It survived until
the French Revolution.”

The religious vicissitudes of the universities caused serious problems
in many countries, but in Ireland the result was a disaster. This country
had no university of its own until 1592, when Trinity College Dublin
was established to serve the Protestant minority of the population. Stud-
ents belonging to the Catholic majority were already excluded from the
English and Scottish universities which they had frequented before the
Reformation. As a result they were forced to go to the Continent, where .
a great number of Irish colleges were attached to Catholic universities
such as Salamanca (1592), Lisbon (1593), Douai (1603), Paris (1623),
Louvain (1624) and others. The extent of this problem appears from the
fact that, just before the opening of the local Irish seminary at Maynooth
(1795), there were no fewer than 11 Irish continental colleges with a
total of 44 professors and 824 students.”°

THE RISE OF THE ACADEMIES

One major development with general European implications had its
origin in Italy, where several special conditions contributed to the break-
down of the medieval monopoly of the universities as practically the
only seats of advanced teaching and research. As the many independent,
self-governing city-states became rich and wealthy by their own industry,
international trade and banking, they produced a new class of prosper-
Ous citizens who were literate, culturally alert, and conscious of the value
of higher education. The existence of this class is one of the principal
reasons for the fact that Italy had more universities than any other region
in Europe and that, consequently, the number of highly educated people
became greater than elsewhere.

With such important exceptions as the Republics of Venice and
Genoa, the original democratic or oligarchic constitutions of the city-

°2 M. Williams, The English College in Rome (London, 1982). Cf. chapter 2, pp. 66-7.
3 W. P. Treacy, Irish Scholars of the Penal Days: Glimpses of their Labours on the Conti-
nent of Europe (New York, 1887); H. [Robinson]-Hammerstein, ‘Aspects of the Conti-
nental Education of Irish Students in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth I’, Historical Studies,

7 (Dublin, 1971), 137-53.

480

Tradition and innovation

states were replaced by monarchic governments under hereditary houses
of princes and dukes, whose courts gradually attracted artists and men
of learning. The traditional court physician was supplemented by the
court astrologer, academically trained educators of the noble children,
architects and engineers, and mathematicians acting as surveyors or con-
trollers of weights and measures. In this way the Italian courts became
centres of intellectual activity outside the universities and were often
endowed with economic means of a much greater order of magnitude
than the more spare endowments of the universities. As a result, it now
became possible for skilled intellectuals to make a lucrative career in the
secular world.

It was only natural that such court scholars would meet together to
discuss common problems. As already mentioned, the so-called Accade-
mia Fiorentina or Platonic Academy came into being as a circle of
humanistic philosophers and educators connected with the court of Lor-
enzo de Medici. This example proved to be contagious and it is no exag-
geration to say that, during the sixteenth century, practically every Ital-
ian town became the home of one or more academies of ‘curiosi’ and
‘dilettanti? devoted to philosophical or scientific investigations. Some-
times they were sponsored by the authorities, but more often constituted
on a purely private basis. Some of them cultivated a very wide range of
interests, while others directed their efforts into more specific channels.**

In Florence the Accademia della Crusca was formed in 1582 by two
patricians of the city, the poet Grazzini and the philologist Salviati. Its
purpose was the study and promotion of the Tuscan dialect, which they
recorded in a huge dictionary which first appeared in 1612. In the same
year Galileo, who had been a member since 1606, decided to use this
dialect in his future scientific publications, a fact which, together with
the existence of the dictionary, greatly contributed to the recognition of
Tuscan as the official language of all Italy.

A more scientifically minded circle constituted the Academia
Secretorum Naturae founded about 1560 in Naples by the physician
Giambattista della Porta (d. 1615), who had travelled throughout
France, Spain and Italy, visiting libraries and consulting with both schol-
ars and artisans who knew ‘anything that was curious’, a method of
research he kept up later by an extensive correspondence. Members were
admitted on the condition that they had made a new discovery or obser-
vation of a phenomenon of nature. Here the immediate result was della
Porta’s work Natural Magic (1589), a kind of physico-technical encyclo-
paedia in twenty volumes. At an early date Spain and Germany also had
academies of a humanistic bent.

54M. Maylender, Storia delle accademie d’Italia, 4 vols. (Bologna, 1926-30).

481

Olaf Pedersen

Of more lasting fame was the short-lived Roman Accademia dei
Lincei, founded in 1603 by the young Prince Federigo Cesi (1585-1630),
a gifted amateur naturalist who not only anticipated Linné’s classifi-
cation of plants but was also the first to study insects under the micro-
scope. Among the few members was Galileo (from 1611), some of whose
most important works appeared under the auspices of the Lincei which
also published the Rerum Novae Hispaniae thesaurus, a huge account of
the natural history of America extracted from the writings of Francisco
Hernandez (d. 1587). Cesi’s plans of creating an international network
of such academies failed and his own society came to an end with his
early death; but its name and library were taken over by the new
national academy of Italy founded in 1847 and reconstituted in 1875.
Still existing is also the Florentine Accademia del Cimento, which was
created in 1657 by the Grand Duke Ferdinand II de Medici for promot-
ing experimental science and with Galileo’s last pupil Viviani as a promi-
nent member.”

In the seventeenth century the academy movement gained momentum
north of the Alps and particularly in France and England, where external
political and religious conditions contributed to changing it in a signifi-
cant way. In Paris the Franciscan Father Mersenne (d. 1648) had for
several years maintained a sort of clearing-house for scientific infor-
mation, which he collected and redistributed all over Europe by his enor-
mous correspondence. At the same time his convent was the meeting
place for a group of prominent French mathematicians, scientists and
engineers which he formed into a private and informal academy. This
was in the year 1635, when the literary Académie francaise was also
created by Richelieu for the purpose of promoting the French language.
In the following years the activity of Mersenne’s circle is rather obscure,
and after his death other private academies came into being. In 1648
Mazarin created an Académie de sculpture et de peinture as a testimony
that the new government wished to continue the tradition inherited from
Richelieu. This became even more clear under Colbert who, in 1663,
created the Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres, continuing with
the Académie des sciences in 1666 and finishing in 1671 with a reor-
ganized Académie de sculpture and a new Académie d’architecture. This
clearly was the outcome of Colbert’s general mercantilistic policy. By
organizing the experts in both science and art in such public bodies, the
government would be able both to solicit the services of the top strata
of the French intellectual community, and to control its activity.”®

°° W.E. Knowles Middleton, The Experimenters. A Study of the Accademia del Cimento
(Baltimore, Md., 1971).

°6 R. Hahn, The Anatomy of a Scientific Institution: the Paris Academy of Sciences 1666-
1803 (Berkeley, Calif., 1971); see also Roche, Le Siécle des Lumieres.

482

Tradition and innovation

In England the civil war and the religious unrest during Cromwell’s
protectorate had geatly disturbed the life of the universities and made
ordinary academic life difficult for many scholars. As early as 1645, if
not before, a number of scientists and mathematicians began to meet
privately in London, first at a tavern and later at Gresham College. For
some years a similar group met in Oxford at the house of an apothecary
where there were facilities for experimentation, or at Wadham College.
These groups have become known as the ‘Invisible College’. It was less
formally organized than the academies on the Continent. Many of the
participants were imbued with the ideas which Francis Bacon had advo-
cated in his writings on the philosophy and policy of science, in which
scientific research was conceived as a distinct activity, separated from
teaching and organized by the state.

When the monarchy was restored in 1660, the Invisible College
appeared in public under the name of the Philosophers’ Society, with
greatly increased membership recruited from both the learned and the
technical world as well as from the nobility. In 1662 they obtained a
royal charter constituting them as the Royal Society of London for the
Advancement of Natural Knowledge. The statutes defined the business
of the Society as the improvement of the knowledge of ‘naturall things,
and all useful Arts, Manufactures, Mechanick practises, Engines and
Inventions by Experiments’, and the further examination of scientific
theories by experiment and reason in a critical spirit and without preju-
dice. For this purpose a salaried demonstrator of experiments was
appointed. Clearly the Society conceived itself as an institution of
research without any teaching whatsoever.°’

An interesting point was the decision not ‘to meddle with Divinity,
Metaphysics, Moralls, Politics, Grammar, Rhetoric or Logic’. This not
only meant that the humanities were excluded and had to await the
creation of their own British Academy which was not established until
1902. It also meant that the Royal Society wished to keep away from
the religious strife which still prevented the universities from becoming
truly national institutions; the fellows were asked neither for their
religious opinions nor to sign any declaration of faith. This tolerant spirit
enabled the Society to enrol prominent scientists of any persuasion and
to give support and shelter to refugees from countries where religious or
political intolerance was an obstacle to free intercourse among scholars.

In this respect the situation was different in France, where the revo-
cation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685 put an end to religious toleration,

°”7 H. Lyons, The Royal Society 1660-1940 (London, 1944); T. Spratt, History of the
Royal Society (London, 1667; fasc. reprint St Louis, Miss./London, 1959); cf. R. E.
Schofield, The Lunar Society of Birmingham, a Social History of Provincial Science and
Industry in Eighteenth-Century England (Oxford, 1963).

483

Olaf Pedersen

with the result that some of the most prominent members of the Acadé-
mie des Sciences left the country although they were enabled to stay on
as corresponding members. This period of unrest ended in 1699 when
the Académie was completely reorganized by the government along lines
which strictly defined its structure and activity. Headed by a president
appointed by the king, it was placed directly under one of his ministers
and obliged to perform a number of official duties, such as examining
new technical inventions and reporting on their usefulness. The number
of members was limited by statute and they all had to have academic
qualifications. They were salaried and divided into four classes compris-
ing the ten ‘honoraires’ and the twenty members in each of the classes
of ‘pensionnaires’, ‘associés’, and ‘éléves’. The ‘pensionnaires’ comprised
three representatives of each of the disciplines of mathematics, astron-
omy, anatomy, chemistry and botany, besides a secretary and a treas-
urer. They had to reside in Paris whereas the class of ‘associés’ was
permitted to nominate eight foreign members.

The ‘éléves’ were not students but promising younger scholars, each
of whom was attached to a ‘pensionnaire’ as a kind of tutor. In this
way the Académie des sciences was transformed into a highly bureau-
cratic and well-oiled state department of scientific research.*®

In marked contrast to this development, the Royal Society of London
preserved its status and independence as a free corporation. There were
no statutory limitations to the number of members, many of whom were
amateurs or gentlemen-scientists or even noblemen without any scientific
proclivities at all. The Society was not financially supported by the state
and the members had to pay an annual subscription to cover the
expenses. On the other hand, they were free to pursue their own scien-
tific inclinations and, unlike its French counterpart, the Royal Society
never did much work for the government.

Thus there were now two different models of learned societies which
could be more or less closely emulated by the founders of the many new
academies which came into being in almost all European countries.°*? In
Germany the movement began in 1652 with the privately established
Schweinfurt Academy which, in 1677, was reorganized as the Academia
Leopoldina under the auspices of the Emperor. It had no fixed address,
but moved its headquarters to the town where the newly elected presi-
dent resided. In 1700, King Frederick I of Prussia adopted Leibniz’s plan
for an Akademie der Wissenschaften which opened in 1711 in Berlin as
a state institution on the French model; this model was also adopted for

°8 The statutes of the reorganized academy are printed in Histoire de l’Académie Royale
des Sciences. Année M.DC.XCIX (3rd edn Paris, 1732), 3-6.

°°? F, Hartmann and R. Vierhaus (eds.), Der Akademiegedanke im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert
(Bremen/Wolfenbiittel, 1977).

484

Tradition and innovation

the Russian Imperial Academy in St Petersburg which was planned by
Peter the Great and created in 1725 by Catherine I. The movement
reached Scandinavia with the establishment of learned societies under
royal protection in Stockholm (1741) and Copenhagen (1742).

The spread of the academies throughout Europe shows that the idea
of a learned society independent of the university must have satisfied a
real need in contemporary society.©’ In fact, one can point to several
reasons for the success of the movement and the benevolent attitude of
the governments towards it. From the point of view of the state, it was
convenient to have direct access to a body of experts who could be
entrusted with public tasks which were too great to be performed by:
any single university faculty; a good example is the work in geodesy of
the French Academy in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, includ-
ing long and expensive scientific expeditions to such distant countries
as Peru and Lapland. Such undertakings were made possible by the
bureaucratic organization of the state-financed academies. No university
faculty would have been able to compete with the Academy in such a
wide field; yet the ‘academic’ or learned world in general profited by
the academy movement in more ways than one. The involvement in the
technical and economic development of the state raised new problems
which stimulated scientific inquiry and, in some cases, led to com-
missioned research as a new feature in public life. Furthermore, the aca-
demies were great promoters of scholarly and scientific communication
on both the local and the international scene. Frequent meetings — twice
a week in Paris — provided a lively intellectual climate where ideas could
be immediately exchanged and discussed. The network of foreign or
corresponding members opened the horizon to influences which would
only have penetrated the university world slowly. Finally, the introduc-
tion of scientific or learned journals was a completely new venture which
immensely increased the spread and availability of new knowledge.

The scientific periodical as such was not invented by the academies. It
began in 1665 with the French Journal des scavants which was published
weekly by the lawyer Denis de Sallo, who was a councillor of the French
parliament. But already in the same year the Royal Society of London
began its long series of Philosophical Transactions which contained
scientific papers presented to the Society and deemed worthy of publi-
cation; in addition there were abstracts of papers published in other
countries, letters from sea captains in foreign parts, and reviews of
books. The next year the French Académie des sciences started its two
series of Mémoires, or scientific papers, and the annual Histoires, which

6° J. Voss, ‘Die Akademien als Organisationstrager der Wissenschaften im 18. Jahrhun-
dert’, Historische Zeitschrift, 231 (1980), 43-74.

485

Olaf Pedersen

described the meetings and general work of the Academy. Only two
years later, Italy got its first journal of this kind, published in Rome as
the Giornale de’Letterati. A proof that the university world also realized
the importance of this new means of communication was the Acta Erudi-
torum, which was published from 1682 by a circle of scholars at the
University of Leipzig (where there was no academy) and with Leibniz
as one of the principal contributors.°’

By means of their periodicals, the academies were able to increase
their influence far beyond their own circles of members. They enabled
the university professor, the ‘philomath’ schoolteacher or mathematical
practitioner, and the private ‘gentleman-scientist’ to keep abreast of
scientific or scholarly progress.

Thus the learned societies became an immensely important factor in
the intellectual life of the eighteenth century in which they perfectly
adapted themselves to the ideology of the Enlightenment. In 1750, Mau-
pertuis (d. 1759) described the members of the Berlin Academy as
hommes libres and citoyens de la République des Lettres with an only
slightly concealed reference to the rigidity of the university and the
absolutism of the state.®* In 1767, his successor Johann Formey (d.
1797) defined the task of all such societies as the dispersal of human
ignorance in a siécle du demi-savoir, in a speech. which was published
almost verbatim in a supplement to the most typical and comprehensive
statement of the ideas of the Enlightenment, the great Encyclopédie ou
dictionnaire raisonnée (1776).

However, this optimistic picture of the learned societies as pioneers
of freedom and progress in the intellectual world also contained darker
colours. The champion of the German Enlightenment, Christian Wolff
(d. 1754), unhesitatingly defined the task of the academies as the pro-
duction and dissemination of new scientific knowledge and discoveries,
in contradistinction to the teaching purpose of the universities. Similarly,
the first president of the Gottingen Society, Albrecht von Haller (d.
1788), distiguished between the university as an Academy for Teaching
and the societies as Academies for Discovery. In this way, the period
of the Enlightenment witnessed an increasing separation between teach-
ing and research. The universities continued to teach, while research was
more and more concentrated in other institutions and societies. On the
one hand, this increased the delay of time between the discovery of a
new scientific fact or theory and its introduction into the teaching cur-

61D. A. Kronick, A History of the Scientific and Technical Press 1665-1790 (New York,
1976).

62 See Voss, ‘Die Akademien’ (note 60), 44 n. 73.

63 Voss, ‘Die Akademien’ (note 60), 71.

4 Voss, ‘Die Akademien’ (note 60), 45.

486

Tradition and innovation

riculum. On the other hand, it also isolated the full-time researcher from
the lively minds of young students, no doubt with the loss of a number
of bright ideas as a consequence. It was left to the universities of the
nineteenth century to find means to remedy this unfortunate situation.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Allen, P. ‘Scientific Studies in the English Universities of the Seventeenth Cen-
tury’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 10 (1949), 219-53.

Ben-David, J. The Scientist’s Role in Society: a Comparative Study, Englewood
Cliffs, N.J., 1971.

Van Berkel, K. In het voetspoor van Stevin. Geschiedenis van de Natuurweten-
schap in Nederland 1580-1940, Amsterdam, 1985.

Brown, H. Scientific Organizations in Seventeenth Century France (1620-1680),
New York, 1934.

Bullough, V. L. ‘Training of the Non-University Trained Medical Practitioners
in the Later Middle-Ages’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sci-
ences, 14 (1959), 446-58.

Van Caenegem, R. C. Judges, Legislators, and Professors. Chapters in European
Legal History, Cambridge, 1987.

Crosland, M. P. (ed.) The Emergence of Science in Western Europe, London,

1975.

Debus, A. G. The Chemical Philosophy. Paracelsian Sciences and Medicine in
the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, New York, 1977.

Eisenstein, E. L. The Printing Press as an Agent of Change, 2 vols., Cambridge,
1979.

Feingold, M. The Mathematicians’ Apprenticeship. Science, Universities and
Society in England, 1560-1640, Cambridge, 1984.

Frijhoff, W. ‘Geleerd genootschap en universiteit: solidair of complementair in
de wetenschapsontwikkeling? Nederland en de omringende landen tot in de
negentiende eeuw’, in Wetenschapsbeoefening binnen en buiten de universitet,
Nieuwe verhandelingen van het Bataafsch genootschap der proefondervinde-
lijkke wijsbegeerte te Rotterdam, 3rd ser., vol. v, Rotterdam, 1990, 6-19.

Hall, A. R. “The Scholar and the Craftsman in the Scientific Revolution’, in M.
Clagett (ed.), Critical Problems in the History of Science, Madison, Wis.,
1962, 3-32.

Heers, J. ‘L’enseignement a4 Génes et la formation culturelle des hommes d’af-
faires en Méditerranée a la fin du Moyen Age’, Etudes islamiques, 44 (1976),
229-44.

Jones, R. F. Ancients and Moderns: a study of the Battle of the Books, St Louis,
Miss., 1936.

Kearney, H. F. Origins of the Scientific Revolution, London, 1964.

Kulczykowski, M. (ed.) L’Université et ’enseignement extra-universitaire X Vle-
XIXe siécles. léme Session scientifique internationale, Cracovie 11-12 mai
1979, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellonskiego DcLvu. Prace His-
toryczne, Z. 73, Warsaw/Cracow, 1983.

487

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Lopez Pifiero, J. M. Ciencia y técnica en la sociedad espanola de los siglos XVI
y XVII, Barcelona, 1979.

Maffioli, C. S. and Palm, L. C. (eds.) Italian Scientists in the Low Countries in
the XVIIth and XVIIIth Centuries, Amsterdam, 1989.

O’Malley, C. D. (ed.) The History of Medical Education, Berkeley, Calif., 1970.

McClellan III, J. E. Science Reorganized: Scientific Societies in the Eighteenth
Century, New York, 1985.

De Moulin, D. A History of Surgery with Emphasis on the Netherlands, Dor-
drecht, 1988.

Ornstein, M. The Ré6le of Scientific Societies in the Seventeenth Century,
Chicago, Ill., 1928 (many reprints).

Prest, W. The Inns of Court, London, 1972.

Roche, D. Le Siécle des Lumiéres en province. Académies et académiciens pro-
vinciaux 1680-1789, 2 vols., The Hague/Paris, 1978.

Roche, D. ‘L’intellectuel au travail’, Annales. Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations,
37 (1982), 465-80; reprinted in D. Roche, Les Républicains des lettres. Gens
de culture et Lumiéres au XVIIIe siécle, Paris, 1988, 225-41.

Shapiro, B. J. ‘The Universities and Science in Seventeenth-Century England’,
Journal of British Studies, 10 (1971), 47-82.

Vierhaus, R. (ed.) Wissenschaften im Zeitalter der Aufklarung, Gottingen, 1985.

Van Winter, P. J. Hoger beroepsonderwijs avant-la-lettre. Bemoetingen met de
vorming van landmeters en ingenieurs bij de Nederlandse universiteiten van
de 17e en 18e eeuw, Amsterdam/Oxford/Paris, 1988.

448

CHAPTER 12

NEW STRUCTURES OF
KNOWLEDGE

WILHELM SCHMIDT-BIGGEMANN

SCHOLARSHIP AND SCIENCE AT THE UNIVERSITIES

Of the four classic faculties in the early modern university — theology,
jurisprudence, medicine and philosophy — theology was the leading sci-
ence in the century of the Reformation. The faculty owed its leading
position at that time to its theme — the divine revelation. As a result of
the Reformation, however, for which it shared responsibility, it lost this
favoured position. In the seventeenth century, jurisprudence became the
most important science. Medicine, while failing to attain a leading pos-
ition in the university’s intellectual hierarchy, distinguished itself by
being one of the first sciences in the early modern period to adopt the
mechanical Cartesian model of science. Beneath the three superior facul-
ties was the diffuse faculty of philosophy.

Despite its inferior rank in the hierarchy of prestige, the concept of
being scientific — the concept which gave and gives the university its
internal intellectual coherence — was indissolubly connected with the
theoretical and institutional claim of the philosophical faculty. Neither
theoretically nor institutionally is the intellectual history of the universit-
ies conceivable without attending to the double role of the philosophical
faculty. As the fourth faculty, it was the faculty of both the beginning
and the beginner. It was both propaedeutic and pedagogic. Though it
occupied the lowest rung on the ladder of knowledge, it was the faculty ©
that determined what ordered rational knowledge was. It also claimed
the capacity to establish the basis of the intellectual coherence of the
university as an institution. What it taught was, at the same time, the
most fundamental discipline. In the long run, the concepts of science as
ordered knowledge determined the fundamental concepts of the higher
university faculties.

489

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

The scientific importance of philosophy depended, therefore, on its
institutional role and the conceptual substance which, in turn, depended
on philosophy.’ In this alternation it was clear that changes in the con-
cept of science had institutional consequences, that there was a mutual
interaction between institutional change and changing scientific beliefs,
and also that scientific beliefs did not usually correspond to institutional
realities. Whenever the university was influential beyond its own bounds,
whenever it became practical and its ideas were translated into social
activity outside the university, this was on the basis of what was
expounded in the philosophical faculty. For this reason, what we now
call the humanities and social sciences can be dealt with only approxi-
mately within the framework of university disciplines, by repeatedly
stepping outside the university and dealing with the academies and
other scientific and political institutions. Important philosophers were
often courtiers and private individuals rather than university teachers.
Nevertheless, they greatly influenced the substance of the humanities
and social sciences, and they therefore play an important role in this
chapter.

The humanities and social sciences are no more confined to univer-
sities nowadays than they were in the past. Changes in the content
and relationship of the various fields of science are concomitant with
institutional tensions between the various university faculties. Already
at the outset of the modern period, a wide range of types of science
existed which in no way formed a harmonious whole; they presented
a varied topography of possible arguments: Aristotelian sciences; theo-
logically oriented unitary sciences ranging from Scotism, with its
strictly Aristotelian method, through Neoplatonism in all its forms,
including Hermeticism and Cabalism; and finally, the Ciceronian sci-
ences with their simultaneous orientation towards history and phil-
ology. All these concepts were also found in the universities, where,
of course, they influenced the faculties and their views of disciplined
intellectual work in direct proportion to the practical utility of a
particular concept. Out of the internal tensions between the various
types of science, on the one hand, and their political attachments and
consequences on the other, they developed an intellectual dynamic
which shaped the universities as intellectual institutions in which one
science in particular had the leading role. The history of science can
be delineated by noting which of these sciences retained, lost, or
acquired the leadership role.

' See the article on ‘Philosophie’, in K. Griinder (ed.), Historisches Worterbuch der Philo-
sophie, vol. vu (Darmstadt, 1989), 572-878.

490

New structures of knowledge

TYPES OF S GLEN GE

Aristotelian sciences

The history of science — its institutions, objects, achievements and short-
comings — can be clearly observed in the history of the term ‘science’
and its cognates, which only since the nineteenth century has come to
be divided into the natural sciences and the humanities. To define what
‘science’ meant for the early modern period, we must try to understand
it in conjunction with its dominant formal and substantive concepts:
scientia, ars, prudentia, encyclopaedia, historia and philosophia. The
fields of study denoted by these terms have much in common while, at
the same time, they correspond to different directions of scientific study.
All the characteristic concepts of science in the ages of humanism and
the Reformation have corresponding concepts in the field of philosophy.
When, like vectors, they point beyond the fourth faculty, they denote
types of science of the kind that are found, in the sixteenth century, in
theology, in a jurisprudence which is in the process of becoming involved
in politics, and in philological types of science whose main features were
scientia, prudentia and ars.’

More than four centuries after the inauguration of scholasticism, sci-
entia in its Aristotelian version was still the current form of science. This
science, with metaphysics as its prototype, was guided by its objects.
The concepts appropriate for science were those which, in themselves
immutable, also constituted the framework of the changeable. Nature,
which remained essentially the same, was the framework for growth and
decline. Time, continuous like space, was the unchangeable predicate of
the changeable. The metaphysics of ‘being’ contemplated what always
remained the same, the ‘being’ underlying everything that is changeable,
the unmoved Mover or the soul with its unchangeable structures.’ The
conceptual science of principles was real science which defined the scien-
tia as observing and perceiving its object contemplatively and yet ration-
ally. Science was pursued strictly for its own sake; its only purpose was
the perception of its object. This sometimes happened at the price of a
challenge to the theoretical rationality of the topoi of revelation. An
example of this is Averroism, which persisted from the Middle Ages
down into modern times and enjoyed a final flowering in the University

2 Described most completely in J. Zarabella, De methodis and De natura logicae (1578),
in Opp. logica (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1608), in Opera logica (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1966).
Cf. W. Schmidt-Biggemann, Topica universalis. Eine Modellgeschichte der huma-
nistischen und barocken Wissenschaft (Hamburg, 1983), 7off.

3 See C. B. Schmitt, Q. Skinner, E. Kessler, J. Kraye (eds.), The Cambridge History of
Renaissance Philosophy (Cambridge, 1988).

491

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

of Padua in the sixteenth century. According to this version of the Aris-
totelian concept of science, Arabian in origin, neither the immortality of
the soul nor the character of the world as created reality (i.e. its
perishability) could be demonstrated by strictly Aristotelian methods.*
The conceptual objects of physics, metaphysics and theology were, as
theoretical subjects, neither human nor socially oriented. They were
sciences which recognized the unalterable dignity of the object. It was
theology which was able to furnish the most complete form of such a
science. What concept better satisfied the claims of scientia than the con-
cept of God? Theology owed its position as the leading science both to
the concept of scientia as the supreme concept of science — the science
of the immutable — and to its object.’ This view left its mark on the
faculties of the Roman Catholic universities in Spain, Italy and France
in the second wave of scholasticism. It also marked the theology of
Lutheran orthodoxy.

Since Antiquity a distinction had been made between practical and
theoretical sciences. In the sixteenth century, of course, the relation
between theory and practice was not yet a question of ‘changing’ the
world. It was a case of analysing actions in the same way that scientia
analysed eternal concepts. Actions are engaged in with an end in view.
In the science of actions, in the practical sciences, therefore, it was a
matter of choosing the means to achieve a certain end appropriately,
wisely, prudenter. Prudentia was the art of choosing the proper means
of attaining some good, the goal of one’s actions.® The science of pru-
dentia was the science of appropriate means. From the standpoint of
scientific method, ethics, politics and economics were therefore regarded
as practical sciences. Jurisprudence was also concerned with the legit-
imacy and appropriateness of means. Even if it preferred not to be linked
too closely with philosophy, jurisprudence could not deny its connection
with practical philosophy. This is evident from the teaching rules and
instructions of the jurists.’ If science in the strict sense of scientia was
only contemplation, theoretical science was the science of the dignity of
the ends of practical action. Practical science simply delivered the means

On Averroism, see F. van Steenbergen, Maitre Siger de Brabant (Paris, 1977); P. O.
Kristeller, ‘Paduanensischer Averroismus und Alexandrinismus im Licht neuerer Studi-
en’, in P. O. Kristeller, Humanismus und Renaissance, ed. E. Kessler, vol. 11 (Munich,
1976), 124-31. Cf. Kessler’s article on ‘Psychology’, in Schmitt et al. (eds.), Renaissance
Philosophy (note 3) 455-63.

See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, vol. 1, Q. 1 and Cajetan’s commentary, ed.
Leonina, vol. rv (Rome, 1888), 6ff.

Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, vol. 11, 2, Q. 48, and Cajetan’s commentary, ed.
Leonina, vol. vit (Rome, 1895), 395ff.

Cf. Hugo Grotii et aliorum dissertationes de studiis instituendis (Amsterdam, 1645),
esp. Grotius himself (1-6) and Joh. Coccenius (559-65).

492

New structures of knowledge

to the end as defined by metaphysics. Practical science existed propter
aliud (for the sake of something else). It was the art of the means.

The practical sciences and the artes taught and analysed in the philo-
sophical faculty coincide in the sense that they are wisdom, prudence,
skill for the sake of some goal and not for the sake of the action itself.
The artes began with the verbal sciences: grammar, rhetoric and logic,
for it was only at the end of the fifteenth century that the lost Poetics of
Aristotle was found. These arts, too, did not exist for their own sake
but ministered to the presentation and supervision of knowledge. Logic
ensured the correct linkage of truths, rhetoric served practical goals of
invention and arrangement and the presentation of themes and facts.

This view of scientia, prudentia and ars — patterned on Thomist Aris-
totelianism® and including implicit elements of the Stoicism of late
Antiquity — was tailored essentially to a close relationship between phil-
osophy as the basic propaedeutic science, and theology. The practical
variant of this concept of science was jurisprudence. Academic medicine
remained relatively isolated, being neither a theoretical science nor really
a practical one. It was more of an art, though certainly not of the same
sort as rhetoric or logic.

Unitary sciences

The concept of science which differentiated between scientia, prudentia
and ars did not go unchallenged even in the medieval period. Opposing
the clear division into different types of science and scientific disciplines
as well as the clear linkage of disciplines to the concepts of science, there
were also trends towards a unitary science in two main directions: the
Scotists and the champions of the primacy of theology on the basis of
revelation.

By analysing the conceptus entis (the concept of being) and the scientia
nostra, Duns Scotus (c. 1266-1308) and his school tried to establish on
strictly scientific principles a metaphysic valid in a fundamental sense for
all disciplines. On the basis of the idea of being — the most comprehen-
sive of all concepts which, given the limited human capacity of knowl-
edge, could not itself be transcended — a science of all objective areas
was to be deduced with maximum strictness.’ In the thirteenth century,
this conceptual strictness of Scotism was one of the jumping-off points
for conceptualism or nominalism. For conceptualism, of course, the con-

® Thomas Aquinas, Expositio super Boetium librum de Trinitate, ed. B. Decker (Leiden,
1955).

? Cf. L. Honnefelder, Scientia transcendens: Die formale Bestimmung der Seiendheit und
Realitat in der Metaphysik des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit (Duns Scotus—Sudrez-
Wolff—Kant—Peirce), Paradigmata, 9 (Hamburg, 1990).

493

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

cepts were not valid merely in respect of limited human capacity but
were interpreted at the same time as signs for an extra-mental world
concerning whose essential content human beings are incapable of
making any further statement. Like that of Scotism, the scientific ideal
of nominalism could admit only conceptual organization as pure science.
But whereas in Scotism the concept of being opened up the possibility
of a pure metaphysics, in nominalism or conceptualism the notion that
all concepts are only signs of an extra-mental world beyond barred the
way to objective metaphysics.

The scientific concepts of Scotism and nominalism transformed the
Aristotelian concept as adapted by Aquinas. They radicalized a single
aspect and applied the result to the leading science, theology. For,
whereas nominalism performed no fundamental function in the official
university sciences, this transformation of Aristotelianism constituted,
next to Thomism, the second most important current in late scholasti-
cism and neo-scholasticism.'® From the standpoint of the history of
learning, Thomism and Scotism set the course for the Catholic universit-
ies until well into the eighteenth century. In 1526 the Spanish Dominican
Francisco de Vitoria succeeded in establishing Aquinas’s Summa theolo-
giae as the main textbook for Catholic theology in Salamanca. The uni-
versal fame of Thomas’s Summa as a doctrinal source-book dates from
then. At the same time, Thomas de Vio Cajetan wrote his influential
commentary on the Summa (1507-22).'! The Disputationes metaphys-
icae of the well-known Spanish Jesuit, Francisco de Suarez, first pub-
lished in Salamanca in 1597, also established the Scotist version of the
concept of metaphysics permanently for theology.’* Parallel to this, a
tradition of nominalism was maintained — in a subsidiary way — down
to Hobbes and Locke in England.

The type of science based on piety and presupposing the primacy of
theology, which played a vital role in the universities but also reached
beyond them into the academies and monasteries, did not recognize the
exclusive rule of Aristotelianism and its analytical logic. This type of
science, too, derived its claim from the special dignity of the ‘object’ of
theology which necessarily includes within it all the sciences. This sci-

10 See M. Grabmann, Die Geschichte der katholischen Theologie seit dem Ausgang der
Vaterzeit, 2nd edn (Darmstadt, 1974), 161-72; U. Leinsle, Das Ding und die Methode.
Methodische Konstitution und Gegenstand der friihen protestantischen Metaphysik
(Augsburg, 1985); U. Leinsle, Reformversuche protestantischer Metaphysik im Zeitalter
des Rationalismus (Augsburg, 1988).

" See the article on “Thomismus’, in Lexikon fiir Theologie und Kirche, vol. x (Freiburg,
1958), 158-67. Also C. Giacon, La seconda scholastica, 3 vols. (Milan, 1944-50).

12 See R. Specht’s introduction to his selection of passages from F. Suarez, Disputationes
metaphysicae (Hamburg, 1976).

494

New structures of knowledge

ence, already regarded as authoritative by Bonaventura’’ in the High
Middle Ages, saw itself in terms of piety. Arguing as it did from ‘the
truth of the Christian religion’, the gloria Dei was more to the fore than
in Aristotelianism. It could be interpreted in a Neoplatonist sense, as in
Nicolaus Cusanus (1401-64) or the French humanist Jacques Lefévre
d’Etaples (c. 1460-1536). It could also be combined with scholasticism
and mysticism, as in Jean Gerson (1363-1429), chancellor of the Univer-
sity of Paris. It provided the background for Erasmus’s irenical philologi-
cal science. Finally, it could also support Luther and the scripture prin-
ciple in theology."* In short, it was the pattern of non-Hermetic piety
among scientists of all confessions. This was still the case in the seven-
teenth century, moreover, for Johann Amos Comenius (1592-1670) and
for Antoine Arnauld (1612-94). They raised the question of the differ-
ences between ars and scientia; the various trends towards a unitary
science did not succeed in erasing these differences. While a unitary sci-
ence with an Aristotelian basis was interested in a different way in con-
necting metaphysics and logic with theology (and Aristotelian physics),
the area of argument inherited by the artes liberales from late Antiquity
was largely excluded from it. This was not the case with the sciences
which interpreted the primacy of theology in Neoplatonic or philological
and scriptural terms or in a combination of all these.

Hermetic-Platonic sciences

Where the primacy of theology was not defined in Aristotelian terms,
there emerged a type of metaphysical theology different from the schol-
astic type. Metaphysics was not now the doctrine of being in its totality
but was seen as the philosophical formulation of the original insight into
theological truths which were in essence incomprehensible. With our
human resources, divine wisdom can only be understood analogically.
At the same time, history was the place where the divine wisdom was
realized in the history of salvation. At the latest from the Renaissance
philosophers Marsilio Ficino and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola
onwards, that was also true for pagan Platonic philosophy and the
Cabala. From the time of the Vatican librarian Agostino Steuco (1497/8-
1548) onwards, this tradition was known as the philosophia perennis.’”

3 Bonaventura, ‘De reductione omnium scientiarum ad theologiam’, in Bonaventura, Tria
opuscula (Quaracchi, 1938).

* C. F. Staudlin, Geschichte der Theologischen Wissenschaften seit der Verbreitung der
alten Literatur (Gottingen, 1808-11).

SC. B. Schmitt, ‘Perennial Philosophy: from Steuco to Leibniz’, Journal of the History
of Ideas, 27 (1966), 505-32.

495

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

Tradition itself became the stabilizer. The older a truth was, the closer
it stood to the divine paradisiacal tradition. This made it possible to
interpret the contents of the tradition also as theological truths. Tra-
dition then became important for original insights into the underlying
and stabilizing arcane wisdom of the historic faith, the original insight
into the mysteries of the divine existence, the divine justice, the Trinity
and the immortality of the soul. These illuminating ideas constituted the
treasure of wisdom which was then equated with the divine revelation.
These mysteries of divine revelation compensated for the lack of any
conceptual metaphysic, the absence of a rational, logical and metaphys-
ical contemplation, whether confident or dubious.

What was meant by the concept of mystery (the arcane) was, at first,
no more than the difference between divine and human knowledge.
Unable to know the divine counsels, humanity needed revelation. Revel-
ation both natural and biblical was itself a mystery in its divine dimen-
sions. The face turned towards humanity was only one area of divine
wisdom in creation and history.

When, for whatever reasons, the Aristotelian metaphysics had become
obsolete, replacement was needed to supply natural philosophical
explanation as well as to serve speculative theology. Florentine Neo-
platonism —- Ficino, Pico della Mirandola, Steuco, Paracelsus — and its
successors — Weigel (1533-88), Fludd (1574-1637) — as well as the
Christian Cabala - Boehme (1575-1624), Franckenberg (1593-1652) —
used Neoplatonic conceptual models in an effort to provide this replace-
ment. The magia naturalis of humanism (Agrippa von Nettesheim
(1486-1535), Giovanni Batista della Porta (1534-1615)) described that
part of scientific knowledge not covered by the Ciceronian tradition,
i.e. natural philosophy and natural theology. To replace the conceptual
precision of Aristotelian metaphysics, the Neoplatonically interpreted
insights of Plato, of the Corpus hermeticum (Ficino), of the Pythagorean
and Cabalist tradition (Pico, Reuchlin, professor of Greek and Hebrew
in Tiibingen) were evaluated as referring to the mysterious forces of
nature (especially by Telesio (1509-88), Patrizi (1529-97), professor of
philosophy in Ferrara, Padua and Rome, Bruno (1548-1600), Cam-
panella (1568-1639)). Revelations from nature and history replaced the
concepts of scholastic metaphysics. Cabalist natural philosophy and
Hermetic medicine seemed just as scientifically valid as speculative the-
ogony.’® In the Baroque scholar Athanasius Kircher (SJ 1602-80) and in

© 'W. Pagel, Das medizinische Weltbild des Paracelsus. Seine Zusammenhdnge mit Neu-
platonismus und Gnosis (Wiesbaden, 1962); W.-D. Miiller-Jahnke, Astrologisch-
magische Theorie und Praxis in der Heilkunde der friihen Neuzeit (Wiesbaden/Stuttgart,
1985); A. G. Debus, The Chemical Philosophy. Paracelsian Science and Medicine in
the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (New York, 1977).

496

New structures of knowledge

the Neoplatonic Cambridge school with Benjamin Whichcote (1609-
83), John Smith (1618-52), Henry More (1614-87) and Ralph Cud-
worth (1617-88),’’ this philosophy enjoyed a final rich flowering in the
seventeenth century.

By virtue of their explicit appeal to revelation, the Hermetic sciences
regarded themselves as universal sciences. Their claim to universality
rested on participation in the divine wisdom hidden and awaiting dis-
covery in nature and Scripture. Nature was seen as a universal frame of
reference for the divine wisdom. Macrocosm and microcosm, universe
and humanity, were mutually conditioned and justified astrology and
homeopathic medicine. In everything visible there was always a pointing
to the invisible. This was the original impetus for emblematics, alchemy
and didactical literature down to the Rosicrucian movement. The spiri-
tual presence of God in the world came to a focus in the theologically
radical sense of contingency at the end of which stood mystical and
negative theology, whose implicit objective was to eliminate theology as
a university science.*®

Ciceronian sciences

Ciceronianism, with its historical philological approach, was receptive
to Hermetic-Platonic speculations. The boundary between Ciceronian
science and Hermetic-Platonic mysticism was often imperceptible. The
reason for this was that Ciceronianism, with its historical philological
approach was a type of learning that had not developed any independent
metaphysics or theology. For this type of learning, everything came
down to history and encyclopaedics. Scholarship of this type had no
bond with the area of scientia; it was limited to the artes liberales.

The term ars (art) — counter-concept to scientia (science) — was far
from being merely the opposite of theoretical scientia and practical pru-
dentia. The liberal arts were the area of the institutionalized learning
which, since the end of the period of Antiquity (since Martianus Capella,
following Varro), took its bearing not from metaphysics but from
philology and mathematics. In the sixteenth century and even in the
seventeenth, the trivium of the liberal arts — grammar, rhetoric and
dialectic — defined the border zone of the academic colleges and univer-
sity faculties of philosophy.'? The greater the hostility to the analytical

7 Cf. C. A. Patrides (ed.), The Cambridge Platonists (Cambridge, 1980).

18 Cf. M. De Molinos, Guida spirituale (Rome, 1675), on the Catholic side, and on the
Protestant side G. Arnold, Das Geheimnis der géttlichen Sophia (Leipzig, 1700) and
G. Arnold, Historie und Beschreibung der mystischen Theologie (Frankfurt-on-Main,
1703).

9 Paulsen, Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts,; W. Barner, Barockrhetorik. Unter-
suchungen zu ihren geschichtlichen Grundlagen (Tiibingen, 1970).

497

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

metaphysics and logic of scholastic Aristotelianism became, the more
people came to rely on philology (Erasmus) or, occasionally, on speculat-
ive mathematics (Nicolaus Cusanus, Lefévre d’Etaples, Petrus Ramus,
and also Kepler),*° which appeared in the quadrivium of the liberal arts
in the form of musical theory, astronomy, arithmetic and geometry.

The combination of the artes liberales with philology included the
proximity to rhetoric, poetics and historical study. This was the scientific
field to which jurisprudence was closest in the university. To the extent
that it considered itself a university science, jurisprudence took Roman
law as its basis. Thus, since the rediscovery of Roman law, a broad
Ciceronian historical type of science had emerged, not oriented towards
the Aristotelian scientific system but which, using philological and his-
torical methods, circumvented the strict scientific method of late scholas-
ticism and by doing so also reconstructed the system of sciences. The
way this came about was that the philologists in the first flowering
phase — from Petrarch (1304-74), via Valla (1407-57), down to Polizi-
ano (1454-94), Erasmus (1466-1536), Joseph Justus Scaliger (1540-
1609) in Leiden and the jurist Jacques de Cujas (1522-90) in Bourges —
developed their armoury of text-critical methods.*! The practice of this
art led to the development of a syncretistic Ciceronian ‘philosophy’
which regarded history as the most important arsenal of knowledge
(needing to be critically sifted) and the unity of eloquence and logic as
the instrument of the quest for knowledge. The philological method and
the historical perspectives were in opposition to scholastic theology and
philosophy with their emphasis on metaphysics.

The absence of metaphysics was compensated by the richness of his-
tory. Now that it was no longer a matter of fundamental metaphysical
concepts but rather of assembling the wealth of historical insights,
encyclopaedias became essential, following the ancient traditions of rhet-
oric. From the Renaissance onwards, therefore, the philological rhetori-
cal tradition was outstanding for its encyclopaedias, a genre of historical
study conceived in opposition to fundamental metaphysical claims and
one whose tradition is still alive in our own day.”

The encyclopaedias of the early modern period were at first arranged,
not alphabetically, but in accordance with the organigram of the disci-
plines. They presented the wisdom of history in topoi and loci com-
munes, i.e. particular insights, maxims, proverbs, theorems, sources.

20 See on this, E. Cassirer, Individuum und Kosmos in der Philosophie der Renaissance
(Leipzig/Berlin, 1927).

21 P. Koschaker, Europa und das rémische Recht (Munich/Berlin, 1947); F. Wieacker,
Privatsrechtsgeschichte der Neuzeit unter besonderer Berticksichtigung der Deutschen
Entwicklung, 2nd edn (Gottingen, 1967); K. H. Burmeister, Das Studium der Rechte
im Zeitalter des Humanismus im deutschen Rechtsbereich (Stuttgart, 1974).

2 Schmidt-Biggemann, Topica universalis (note 2).

498

New structures of knowledge

Generalis: Metaphysica. 1.
Pneumatica. 2.

Theoretica Physica. 3.
Arithmetica. 4.
Specialis Pura
Geometria. 5.
porous Genere: Cosmographia. 6.
matica Corpus
oie Uranoscopia. 7.
Media: Geographia. 8.
lie Optica. 9.
se a0 Musica. 10.
Architectonica. 11.
Disciplina
Philoso- Generalis:Ethica. 1.
phica est Methodica Oeconomica. 2.
Specialis ¢ Politica. 3.
Practica Scholastica. 4.
Exemplaris:Historica. 5.
Lexica. 1.
Sermocinatrix Grammatica. 2.
Pura Rhetorica. 3.
Logica ¢ ' Ratiocinatrix:Logica. 4.
“Oratoria. S.
Poetica Media
Poetica. 6.

Mnemonica. 7.

Figure 1 The approach to the discipline of philosophy (from
Alsted, Encyclopaedia, col. 81)

These were derived from ‘history’, from the area of experience of book-
learning, nature and tradition. Jean Bodin (1529-96), a polymath and
public law specialist who had an immense influence on the modern
period, also an expert on witchcraft and a nature mystic, provided the
clearest presentation of this coherence in his philosophy of history.*? The
loci of historical study were arranged in a way that seemed designed as
a pedagogical rule for the communication of knowledge in disciplines.
Thus a correspondence was achieved between the scientific concept of
experience and the method of educational mediation. The above dia-
gram from J. H. Alsted (see Select bibliography) illustrates the approach.

The encyclopaedic work of the philosophical faculty began its post-
medieval career with G. Reisch’s Margarita philosophica (Strasburg,
1502). In the debate concerning the logic of the French humanist, Petrus
Ramus, it was then overhauled theoretically and reached its peak — dif-

23 A. Seifert, Cognitio historica. Die Geschichte als Namengeberin friihneuzeitlicher Wis-
senschaften (Berlin, 1976).

499

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

fering according to conception — in the Theatrum universitatis rerum
(Basle, 1565) of the Basle physician Theodor Zwinger; in the De dignit-
ate et augmentis scientiarum (London, 1623) of Francis Bacon, an
attempt at an Instauratio magna; in the encyclopaedias (1620-30) of
the Herborn philosopher and theologian Johann Heinrich Alsted; in the
Ars magna sciendi (Amsterdam, 1669) of the Baroque Jesuit Athanasius
Kircher; in the universal scientific projects of the early British Royal
Society** from which developed the chemical symbolism of Robert
Boyle; in the concept of universal education of Johann Amos Comenius;
and, finally, in the plan of a Characteristica universalis of Gottfried
Wilhelm Leibniz. It was only in the eighteenth century that the alpha-
betic arrangement of the encyclopaedia was established when, following
the Cyclopedia (1728) of Ephraim Chambers, Zedler’s Universallexikon
(Leipzig, 1732) and Diderot’s and d’Alembert’s great Encyclopédie
(1750) sought to summarize the scientific knowledge of their century.

Even this production of alphabetically arranged encyclopaedias was
an heir of the Ciceronianism which established the philology and histori-
cal studies of the sixteenth century and became the point of departure
for all the historical and philological sciences taught in the universities
between 1500 and 1800.

THEOLOGY: LEADING SCIENCE IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

Aristotelianism and Ciceronianism, the rival types of learning at the
beginning of the sixteenth century, were thoroughly institutionalized in
the universities. Hermetic Neoplatonism tended to stand outside the uni-
versities and was occasionally hostile to them. Yet the various models
of learning were discussed in university faculties and had to prove their
capability in theology and philosophy, jurisprudence and medicine.
For the first two-thirds of the sixteenth century in all three types of
Aristotelianism, Ciceronianism and Hermetic Platonism, it was still
assumed as unquestionable that theology was the leading science. In the
scientific community constituted by the universities, in academic activi-
ties and, by virtue of the universities, usually in the political field as well,
theology’s word was law (and this is the definition of a leading science).
Whether Catholic or Protestant, theology was the leading science
because its assumptions and axioms were those by which people were
guided in general as well as in all doubtful cases, i.e. wherever the fron-
tiers of an individual science were crossed or controversial questions
seemed insoluble with the means available to a single discipline. Leading
sciences were primi inter pares; they enjoyed primacy in the scientific

74 Cf. J. Knowlson, Universal Language Schemes in England and France 1600-1800
(Toronto, 1975).

500

New structures of knowledge

enterprise; this was also evident from the stipends attached to the various
teaching posts.

The function of the leading science was part of science policy and it
depended on its success. Without the leading role of theology in the
universities at the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Reformation in
the German Empire, France and Britain would have been inconceivable.
Theological concepts fashioned models which contributed to the
religious and political upheavals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centur-
ies. But theology did not retain its leading position. Ciceronianism, with
its historical and philological approach, was useful not only as an auxili-
ary science for Reformation theology but also because it could be com-
bined, above all, with jurisprudence. Where Roman law was used,
knowledge of historical and philological matters was essential for legal
procedures. The Hermetic-Platonic sciences were not confined to aca-
demic theology. They were able to replace the Averroist and Galenian
medicine of the sixteenth century and thereby to establish a non-
Aristotelian concept of nature.

In principle, all the university sciences were in a position to become
the leading science. Theology was actually replaced first by jurisprudence
and then, with the redefinition of the concept of nature in the eighteenth
century, by philosophy. In the last third of the eighteenth century, phil-
ology became increasingly important and in the nineteenth century took
over the role of leading science for a time, above all in the university
reform associated with the name of Humboldt.

Types of theological science

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, Aristotelianism, Ciceronianism
and Hermetic-Platonic sciences were closely connected with theology.
This had methodological advantages. The Aristotelian combination of
metaphysics and logic was useful to theology in dealing with the concept
of God and its implications in terms both of revelation theology and
logic. This was a criterion of scholastic Aristotelian theology. Refor-
mation theologians, both Lutherans and Calvinists, favoured a theology
largely independent of scholastic philosophy. Humanistic Ciceronianism
had paved the way for this. This was the basis on which Erasmus, John
Colet and Lefévre d’Etaples had understood their Christian philosophy.
It was also the basis of the distinctive combination of philology and
biblical absolutism in Luther’s theology.”

In Reformation theology, philology was at first an auxiliary discipline
to the study of Holy Scripture. Historical philology was studied from
the Reformation standpoint. Erasmus and Lefévre d’Etaples had paved

28 Staudlin, Geschichte der Theologischen Wissenschaften (note 14), 14.

501

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

the way for the Reformation with their biblical philology. This scholarly
approach was strengthened in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
Théodore de Béze developed theological philology in Geneva, whereas
Joseph Justus Scaliger in Leiden founded the Dutch philology which
dominated the seventeenth century, with Hugo Grotius and the universal
scholar Gerardus Johannes Vossius as its most important and theologi-
cally competent representatives. Being mutually interdependent, phil-
ology and historical study became the sciences with the closest affinity
to the Reformation. Philology aided biblical science and from history
the method of loci was adopted in theology.

The Aristotelian sciences never played the same role in Protestantism
as they enjoyed in Catholicism. When, as in Melanchthon, the Refor-
mation began to don Aristotelian garments,” they were the garments of
a Ciceronian Aristotelianism, an Aristotelianism without a strict meta-
physics and logic, occasionally rhetorical and Stoic. The resultant dog-
matics was formulated not in Summae and Commentaries with logical
and metaphysical concepts but in topics, in loci communes.

The Hermetic Neoplatonic sciences were also centred on theology.
Their main representatives — the Florentine Platonists Ficino and Pico,
the Vatican librarian Agostino Steuco, the classical scholar Johannes
Reuchlin, the physicians Paracelsus and Franciscus Mercurius van Hel-
mont (1618-99), as well as the Christian Cabalist Knorr von Rosenroth
(1636-89) — claimed to be able to comprehend pagan, Christian and
Jewish theology as a unity. Revealed in Paradise, the original wisdom
held good for all human beings. In the course of history it had then
become hidden from the sight of the ignorant. The central dogmas were:
the Trinity, the immortality of the soul, the love commandment, the
judgement of the world. These were regarded as Platonic-Hermetic revel-
ations as well as Christian revelations. To be sure, Hermetic philosophy
was never combined with theology in the same official ecclesiastical way
as Aristotelian philosophy was with Catholic theology or the Ciceronian
philosophy with Reformation theology. The Hermetic Neoplatonic phil-
osophy was nevertheless the scientific model of most of the mystic and
spiritualist movements of all the confessions.”’

In the aftermath of the Reformation, the victory of theology was its
own undoing from the standpoint of science policy. For while the Refor-
mation was strong enough, on the one hand, to split theology into a
Protestant and a Catholic version, on the other hand, none of the con-

76 P. Petersen, Geschichte der aristotelischen Philosophie im protestantischen Deutschland
(Hamburg, 1924).

7 Cf. A. Haas, Sermo mysticus. Studien zur Theologie und Sprache der deutschen Mystik
(Fribourg, 1979); H. Brémond, Histoire littéraire du sentiment religieux en France
depuis la fin des guerres de religion jusqu’a nos jours, 12 vols. (Paris, 1916-36).

502

New structures of knowledge

fessional theologies was able in the long run to achieve final victory over
its opponents, whether in the Protestant or in the Catholic camp. At the
very latest in the seventeenth century, competing theologies with their
rival claims to truth became intolerable for the Republic of Letters. This
state of affairs discredited confessional theology in its entirety and made
room for a non-confessional natural theology.

Protestant theology

Even if Protestant theology, with its passionate hostility towards Rome,
proved attractive to the various early forms of nationalism in France,
Germany and England, the basis of its success lay in its radical theologi-
cal character. By making the principles of sola scriptura and sola fide
the foundation pillars of Christian faith, the theology professor Martin
Luther reorganized a theology which, until then, had expounded its
themes in ever larger and more intricate commentaries in the traditional
Thomist, Scotist or, occasionally, nominalist manner. The insistence on
taking the Scriptures alone as the basis of faith presupposed the corpus
of biblical texts whose character as revelation was an article of faith and
whose theological affirmations were held to be sufficient. This meant
that theology also became institutionally penetrated by philology. The
affinity of philological and historical scholarship with theology was ines-
capable since co-operation between them made it possible to establish
the basic text of Holy Scripture and thus to make it available for exegesis
and preaching. At the same time, theology was declared autonomous in
relation to scholastic philosophy. Philosophical aids were not wanted
since they conflicted with the principle of the sufficiency of Scripture.

The doctrine of justification by faith alone (sola fide) made the act
of faith the shibboleth of religion. Here the grace of God and human
redemption were instantly one. Through His Son, God atoned for
humanity’s sin. This Son was concealed in human form and only one
who believed in the Christ, in this human being Jesus, could know the
love of God. But this faith on the part of the believer had no merit. Even
the possibility of a human being believing was due to God’s grace and
not to human free will. Confronted with the absolute God, what is a
free human will? Where the creature certainly owes all to its Creator,
how could it possibly claim anything for itself?

This theology had considerable consequences. The church was admit-
ted only as messenger of God’s word. In the Protestant churches, the
sacramental theology which had once governed them and which still
governed the Catholic Church was reduced to baptism and eucharist.

28 Cf. R. Seeberg, Lehrbuch der Dogmengeschichte, vol. v, 5th edn (Darmstadt, 1959).

503

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

Theologically, a uniform administration of revelation and cultus was no
longer warranted, and the church thus became divided among the vari-
ous territories and urban communities with their own laws. Authoritat-
ive dogmatics came to depend on theological consensus among the
churches’ representatives. Because the latter were mostly university tea-
chers, special importance came to be attached to the theological faculties
of the Protestant universities which were either municipal institutions or
schools of the regional authorities. To the degree that decisions were
possible at all, these faculties usually became the appeal court for funda-
mental doctrinal questions. In the late sixteenth century and in the first
half of the seventeenth, this applied to all the Protestant universities in
Europe: the Lutherans in Germany, the Reformed colleges in France,
Geneva, the Netherlands and Scotland — in England also in the
Cromwellian period. At all events, the universities provided the forum
where difficult dogmatic questions were debated, even if no decision on
them proved possible. A great deal remained controversial, of course.
This was always so in respect of the gradually institutionalized polemical
anti-Catholic theology, of which one of the best-known examples was
the Examen Concilii Tridentini (4 parts, 1565-73) of Martin Chemnitz
(1522-86).

But polemical theology also divided the Reformed (Zwinglian and
Calvinist) theologians and the Lutherans. For it soon emerged clearly
that two points in particular remained controversial between Calvinist
and Zwinglian churches, on the one hand, and Lutheran churches, on
the other: the relation between justification and predestination, and the
question of the Lord’s Supper.’ The doctrine of justification had its basis
in the sovereign freedom of the divine grace to which the human being
was completely subjected. It became a matter of dispute whether this
dependence on the divine grace already implied divine predestination in
respect of the saved and the damned. The Calvinists insisted on predesti-
nation; the Lutherans, on the contrary, asserted that they could say
nothing at all on this score.

On the eucharist, Luther and Zwingli had already found agreement
impossible. Luther stressed the real presence of Christ in the sacrament;
Zwingli the ‘symbolic’ presence. Luther’s position was subsequently
taken to mean the divine presence in the Lord’s Supper, in particular.
Zwingli’s position paved the way for the increasingly strict Calvinist
exclusion of all elements of sacrificial worship.

These irreconcilable basic theological views were first emphasized by
representatives of the university faculties of theology and then so heat-
edly discussed that a peaceful solution became impossible. In conse-

2° Cf. K. Heussi, Kompendium der Kirchengeschichte, 12th edn (Tiibingen, 1960).

New structures of knowledge

quence, in the second half of the sixteenth century, the institutional unity
of Protestant theology was shattered. In Saxony and the Palatinate, but
also in the Netherlands, this process of disintegration provoked some-
times embittered battles between Lutheran and Reformed theologians.
In England, theological differences between the Reformation theologians
constituted one of the causes of the Cromwellian revolution. This is the
original context of the term rabies theologorum (the fanaticism of the
theologians).

Catholic theology

Catholic theology, which until the middle of the sixteenth century could
be conceived in either scholastic or Ciceronian terms, was driven by the
Reformation and the Council of Trent (1545-63) into the second period
of scholasticism, a current of Catholic theology and philosophy which
was dominated by the Spanish*’ and Italian*’ schools. First the Domin-
icans and later the Jesuits took the lead in this neo-scholastic theology
and philosophy. This domination was not peculiar to Spain and Italy,
however, but also applied to the Catholic parts of Germany,* while in
France the Oratorians played the most important role.*°
Post-Tridentine dogmatics was a church-oriented sacramental the-
ology of representation. It was a radically anti-Protestant dogmatics
directed against the two key Lutheran affirmations, the sola scriptura
and the sola fide. The church orientation emerged clearly in the emphasis
on the principle of tradition. Understood as a hierarchy, the institutional
church was vindicated as Christ’s representative in the world, which
meant that its traditions were also entitled to claim theological authority.
The sola fide principle was thereby abolished. Sacramental theology
retained the seven sacraments — baptism, confession, communion, con-
firmation, marriage, priestly ordination and the anointing of the sick —
and, in opposition to the Lutheran doctrine of the ubiquity of Christ
and to the Zwinglian symbolic view of the Lord’s Supper, insisted on
transubstantiation and Christ’s real presence in the bread and wine.
Opposing the Protestant justification by faith alone was the theology
of free will. This theology rejected the attribution of a conceptual
absolutism to God. Not only did it not emphasize the divine om-
nipotence in favour of the calculable divine justice, but neither was

3° Cf. H. Jedin (ed.), Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte, vol. tv: Reformation, katholische

Reform und Gegenreformation, (Freiburg/Basle/Vienna, 1967).

Giacon, La seconda scholastica (note 11).

32 B. Duhr, Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Landern deutscher Zunge, 4 vols. (Freiburg/
Regensburg, 1907-28).

33 Cf. M. Dupuy, Bérulle et le sacerdoce. Etude historique et doctrinale (Paris, 1969).

595

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

humanity’s dependence on God pushed dogmatically to include the act
of grace which is faith, and thus the abolition of free will. Formulated
for the early modern period by the Spanish theologians, above all, the
Jesuits Molina (1535-1600), who taught theology in Evora, and Suarez
(1548-1617), professor of theology in Valladolid, Rome, Alcala, Sala-
manca, the theology of free will set humanity in a responsible, legal
relationship to God. The worldly representative of the just and loving
God was the church, which had to proclaim the radiance and glory of
the just God in its worship. This was the theological premise of the care
lavished on the plastic arts and music in Catholic worship between
Rubens and Mozart. It was also the premise of the growing retreat of
theology behind worship in the eighteenth century.

The Reformation had altered considerably the situation of Catholic
theology. In the first place, it was possible to study theology even outside
the universities, as the example of Agostino Steuco, the Vatican
librarian, shows. But to a very large extent, Protestant university the-
ology soon imposed its institutional system on Catholic countries. The
Council of Trent insisted on obligatory seminary training for priests,
thereby laying the institutional foundation for a renewal of academic
theology. This was all the easier since Spanish theology, even more than
Italian and French, was in any case attached to the university. In the
second half of the sixteenth century, Protestant countries had either
taken over or re-established universities and colleges at regional level.*°
The position of the Catholic universities was roughly as follows: the
ancient universities — Paris, Bologna, Salamanca, Coimbra, Padua,
Prague and Vienna — were able, even after the Council of Trent, to pract-
ise a type of theology which was not exclusively interested in the estab-
lishment of a politically bipartisan theology. Since the end of the six-
teenth century when the Jesuit universities were re-established or Jesuits
assumed the leadership in theology — as in Spain, in particular, but also
in many universities in Germany and Italy*® — Catholic theology increas-
ingly became the powerful instrument of the Counter-Reformation.*’
One who had a decisive influence on this version of theology was the
Jesuit Cardinal Roberto Bellarmino, professor of theology in Louvain
(1570-76), where he installed Thomas’s Summa theologiae as a text-
book, and then, from 1588, professor of polemical theology in Rome.*®
University theology’s attachment to international controversy on behalf

*4 Cf. H. Jedin, Geschichte des Konzils von Trient, 4 vols. (Freiburg, 1949-75).

°° See chapters 2 and 3.

°° Hengst, Jesuiten.

>? Cf. Grabmann, Geschichte der katholischen Theologie (note 10), 178ff.

38 J. von Dollinger, Geschichte der Moralstreitigkeiten in der r6misch-katholischen Kirche
seit dem 16. Jahrhundert, 2 vols. (Nordlingen, 1889). Also S. Tromp’s article on Bellar-
mine in Lexikon fiir Theologie und Kirche, vol. 11 (Freiburg, 1958), 160-2.

506

New structures of knowledge

of Counter-Reformation ideas led in the course of the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries to the relegation of Catholic theology to a back-
water, since it was unable to accept either the legal innovations which,
taking their cue from the Reformation, led to the formation of sovereign
states independent of the church, or the emancipation of philosophy in
the eighteenth century.

Natural theology

The result of the doctrinal conflict between the three main confessions,
which had been made possible by theology as the leading science
common to all three, was the paralysis of theology’s claim to truth.*? If
the confessional theological experts in the universities and colleges were
unable to reach consensus on central questions, it could be argued that
there was nothing there on which to agree. The polemical debate which
dragged on for generations no longer discredited only the respective
opponents but also the entire area of confessional theology. This opened
up the way for natural theology.*°

There were two vacua waiting to be filled by natural theology. On
the one hand, natural theology formed the basis underlying the con-
fessions; on the other hand, it filled the gap which the lack of a meta-
physics left in the Ciceronian type of science.

Ciceronianism was oriented towards philology and historical study.
It was a humanist science. It was rhetorical and political by its very
design. What later came to be called the ‘ultimate questions’ — of God,
freedom and immortality — had indeed already been tackled by Cicero
yet they remained in the realm of discussion, in abeyance, theoretical,
almost neutral. All philosophy was incorporated in and subordinated to
the orbit of the civil duties of the state, the republic. For Reformation
theology in Melanchthon and - in a different way — in Calvin, this meta-
physical and theological neutrality had been a point in favour of philo-
logical and historicist Ciceronianism. Biblicism had been substituted for
the looser metaphysical claims.

As a result of the controversies between confessional theologies, bibli-
cism itself became a point of controversy and lost its credibility to the
degree that confessional theology became incredible. The need arose,
therefore, to make good the (lost) authority of biblicism. No specific
way was laid down as to how this replacement was to be made. Any

39K. Werner, Geschichte der apologetischen und polemischen Literatur der christlichen
Theologie, vols. I-v (1861-7; reprint Osnabriick, 1966).

4 Cf. W. Philipp, Das Werden der Aufklarung in theologischer Sicht (Gottingen, 1957);
K. Feiereis, Die Umprdagung der natiirlichen Religion in Religionsphilosophie (Leipzig,
1965).

597

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

available means would do. And the tradition of natural theology was
available.

The confessional theologies compromised themselves by their own
controversies, but not theology as such. The loss of credibility only
affected that area of theology which defined itself in confessional terms.
This was so for the biblicist justification theology of the Reformation
confessions, just as it was so for the Catholic combination of scholastic
Aristotelian metaphysics and theology. What remained after the dispu-
tatiousness of the theologians was the theology which was true indepen-
dently of the confessions and which was therefore not even pursued by
confessional theology. In other words: the theology of the philosophers,
which was an initial step towards making philosophy the leading univer-
sity science in place of theology. In this natural theology a new explan-
ation was to be given of God, freedom and immortality to replace the
claims on truth, which the confessions had forfeited. These truth claims
could be met with a non-Aristotelian-metaphysical*? theology which
oscillated between a Ciceronian-Stoic and a Hermetic Platonism. Natu-
ral theology in this new phase was compensatory in two ways. It was
a substitute for metaphysics in Ciceronianism and had to make good
the credit of the confessional theologies. Natural theology had all the
hallmarks of compensation, therefore. Its content could not be precisely
fixed. A not inconsiderable part of the popularity of Hermetic Platon-
ism — even in the universities — can certainly be attributed to the com-
pensation it provided for the diminished credibility of the confessional
theology. This is evident from the early popularity of Paracelsian nature
mysticism in Lutheranism — in Johan Arndt (15 55-1621), for example,
and in Christoph Bezold (1577-1638)* or Gottfried Arnold (1666-
1714).** The same was also true of Calvinist scholars — the Rosicrucian
Michael Maier (1568-1622), for instance, and Robert Fludd (1574-
1637), with whom Mersenne and Gassendi entered into controversy.”
The Boehme tradition in the Cambridge Neoplatonic school was
strongly influenced by Cabalist and Paracelsian elements.*° On the Cath-
olic side, nature mysticism was found only outside the universities,
which were rigidly Aristotelian in organization. This applied for example

*1 Aristotle was in the end claimed either as Catholic or for Protestant orthodoxy; cf. W.

Sparn, Wiederkehr der Metaphysik. Die ontologische Frage in der lutherischen Theolo-

gie des frithen 17. Jahrhunderts (Stuttgart, 1976).

Vier Biicher vom wahren Christentum (first published Frankfurt-on-Main, 1605).

Axiomata philosophico-theologica, 2 vols. (Strasburg, 1616-26).

Arnold, Historie und Beschreibung (note 18).

R. Lenoble, Mersenne et la naissance du mécanisme (Paris, 1943).

4° E. Cassirer, Die platonische Renaissance in England und die Schule von Cambridge
(Leipzig/Berlin, 1932); S. Hutin, Henry More: essai sur les doctrines théosophiques chez
les platoniciens de Cambridge (Hildesheim, 1966).

42
43
44
45

508

New structures of knowledge

to Franciscus Patrizi (1529-97) and to the Jesuit Athanasius Kircher
(1602-80). The compensatory popularity of natural theology stabilized
the process in which the modern concept of nature was decisive.

This process was able to draw support from the natural philosophy
of Florentine Neoplatonism, the tradition of the philosophia perennis.
The shared philosophical and theological traditions were contagiously
reinforced after Michael Montaigne revised the Theologia naturalis of
the late medieval Neoplatonist Raymundus Sabundus (d. 1436) in 1569
(Paris, corrected 1589), and, above all, since the important Vérité de la
religion chrestienne (Antwerp, 1587) of Philippe Duplessis-Mornay, the
Calvinist counsellor of Henry IV of Navarre. From then on, a flood of
works dealing with natural theology appeared, of which the most influ-
ential was undoubtedly the De veritate religionis Christianae (1617) by
Hugo Grotius.*” And so nature became the unchallenged key-concept in
theology and philosophy. Conversely, this development strengthened the
idea of a natural religion. Culminating in Leibniz’s Theodicée,** this pro-
cess decisively affected seventeenth-century natural philosophy even
where — outside the universities, moreover — with Gassendi, Descartes,
Mersenne and Hobbes it began to define itself in mechanical terms.*
Not until the period of the Enlightenment was a now independent natu-
ral theology able to mount a critical challenge to the theology of revel-
ation. This is clear from the controversies over natural and historical
revelation between the English deists and their opponents,” from the
later controversy over the legitimacy of a naturalistic biblical criticism
connected with Lessing’s Fragments, and, most clearly of all — and here
once again within the universities — from Kant’s Religion innerhalb der
Grenzen der blossen Vernunft (1793) and his Streit der Fakultdten

(1798).

JURISPRUDENCE: LEADING SCIENCE IN THE BAROQUE PERIOD

Theology was not immediately replaced as the dominant mode of
thought in the universities by natural philosophy. Jurisprudence became
the leading science at the end of the sixteenth century and kept this role
for almost a century and a half. Even jurisprudence did not manage
without the concept of nature which had already helped to define the-
ology. But the discredit in which the theologies had fallen was partly

C. Chesneau, Le Pére Yves de Paris et son temps 1590-1670 (Paris, 1947).

W. Schmidt-Biggemann, Theodizee und Tatsachen (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1988), 61-72.
M. Mersenne, L’Impiété des déistes (Paris, 1624); cf. Lenoble, Mersenne (note 45).
G. V. Lechler, Geschichte des englischen Deismus (Stuttgart/Tiibingen, 1841; reprint
Hildesheim, 1965); E. Hirsch, Geschichte der neueren evangelischen Theologie im Zu-
sammenhang mit den allgemeinen Bewegungen des europdischen Denkens, vol. 1
(Giitersloh, 1949).

509

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

compensated for by the rise of the law of nature. The law of nature
and sovereignty provided a way of coming to terms with the political
consequences of the discovery of America and the Reformation.*' The
result was the politicizing of law, necessarily carried out by the jurists
and philosophers of law. Whereas in humanism, the historical and philo-
logical treatment of Roman law as authoritatively presented by the
French jurist Jacques Cujas’* was to the forefront, after the Reformation,
with its intensification of political problems, the main task of the jurists
became the solution of administrative and constitutional problems of the
state. At the same time, with the new link between state and jurispru-
dence, the new science of political economy emerged. The result was
that the whole administration of justice also became tied to the state,
either because the state and justice regarded themselves as subject to a
common natural law according to the Spanish Thomist tradition,*’ or as
resting on a common ethical basis in the Aristotelian—Althusian tradition.
of the consocatio,™ or because the state established law by virtue of its
absolute power as exposed by Bodin and Hobbes.°* Account was taken
of theology only if it fitted into one of these three patterns.

Natural law

Contemporaneously with but independently of the Reformation, fresh
reflection on the law of nature became imperative when, with the dis-
covery of America, the traditional circle of western legal practice was
breached. Spanish rule over the ‘New World’ demanded legal principles
which did not rest on the Christian revelation but applied to all human
beings by nature. For as long as the New World was not completely christi-
anized, the newly discovered inhabitants of America had to be legal sub-
jects capable of entering into contractual relationships. This legal title
applying alike to all implied the acceptance and therefore the existence of
a standard set of legal maxims for all. To do good and avoid evil — to the
extent that we know what is good and what is evil; not to require of others
what we are not prepared to accept as required of ourselves; essentially
ethical principles such as these loci communes counted as legal norms
recognizable by unaided reason and acceptable to the conscience.

°! J. Hoffner, Christentum und Menschenwiirde. Das Anliegen der spanischen Kolonial-

ethik im Goldenen Zeitalter (Trier, 1947).

Wieacker, Privatrechtsgeschichte (note 21), 167ff.

E, Reibstein, Vélkerrecht (Freiburg/Munich, 1957); E. Reibstein, Volkssouverdanitat und

Fretheitsrechte, 2 vols. (Freiburg/Munich, 1972).

O. von Gierke, Johann Althusius und die Entwicklung der naturrechtlichen Staatstheo-

rien (Breslau, 1880; reprint Aalen, 1958).

°° Cf. C. Schmitt, Die Diktatur, 2nd edn (Munich/Leipzig, 1928); C. B. Schmitt, Der
Nomos der Erde und das Ius Publicum Europaeum (Cologne, 1950).

510

New structures of knowledge

Theologically it was possible to establish this autonomy of ethics on a
Thomist basis and, in fact, the Spanish university theologians, especially
Francisco de Vitoria in Salamanca, did so establish it as a norm against
colonialist exploitation.°° The natural law, which prima facie was not
insight into external nature, was indeed insight into the order of the
divine creation and analogous, therefore, to natural theology. Juristic
considerations made it necessary to replace the legal arguments of the
church and the theologians by ‘natural’ arguments in those Spanish col-
onies wheré the writ of Christianity did not yet run. The binding of the
natural law, as independent of positive Christianity, to natural theology
was the outstanding achievement of late scholastic Spanish jurispru-
dence, the Salamanca school in particular with Francisco de Vitoria,
Gabriel Vazquez, Francisco de Suarez.’’ This tradition was adopted in
Protestant natural law with Hugo Grotius’s De jure belli et pacis (1625)
and the De jure naturae et gentium (1672) of Samuel Pufendorf. The
main works of these two writers became the basis of legal studies. The
anchorage of justice in the natural law was then completed in the
Enlightenment period by Christian Wolff.

Public law and politics

The union of the state and its subjects in absolutely binding systems,
while reinforcing the popularity of the concept of nature, did not take
account of the political character of the confessions and their church.
‘The freedom of the Christian man’, whatever else it might be, was not
his political freedom! Already in the fourteenth century, the French
king — and also the German emperor — had emerged victorious from
church-state conflicts over political primacy. But quarrels over the
church’s political function were waged between the representatives of a
unitary religion and the earthly power. In this struggle, the subject’s legal
relationship to the earthly power continued to be guaranteed in principle
by adhesion to the same religion. The legal battle was the concern of
the civil power alone. The Reformation altered this situation, however.
Since Reformation theology, on the one hand, was unable to reform the
ancient church as a whole and, on the other hand, confessional
Catholicism was unable to nullify the Reformation, situations could and
did arise in which societies found themselves subject to a confessionally
hostile earthly authority. The area of an authority’s sovereignty, which

°° See Hoffner, Christentum (note 51) and Reibstein, Vélkerrecht and Volkssouverdnitat
(note 53); F. de Vitoria, De Indis recenter inventis et de jure belli Hispanorum in bar-
baros. Lectures held in 1538-9 (1st edn Lyons, 1557).

°”7 E. Reibstein, Johannes Althusius als Fortsetzer der Schule von Salamanca (Karlsruhe,

1955).

511

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

was always legitimated in religious terms, could be challenged if a prince
ordered a change of confession and the society made this demand a
casus belli. This happened in the German Reich in 1530 and was only
superficially patched up by the Peace of Augsburg. In sixteenth-century
France, this problem gathered momentum and the confessional differ-
ences between Huguenots and Catholics were the occasion of protracted
civil wars ignited primarily by conflicting political and theological
claims.*®

Confessional theology was in the long run clearly incapable of fulfil-
ling its role of political legitimation any more than it proved itself a
unifying theological force as polemical theology. Theology was no
longer credible, therefore, not only in the field of theology but also in
the establishment of political order. This was where the concept of sover-
eignty — as re-envisaged by Jean Bodin in Les Six livres de la république
(1587) and defined by Thomas Hobbes in De cive (1642) and Leviathan
(1651) — came in.°? With the concept of sovereignty, the suprema pot-
estas, the power without its equal on earth, the state’s absolutely binding
character was established over all confessional theological legal claims.
Binding legal force was the exclusive prerogative of the state. Theologi-
cal problems, even the problems of the churches, were therefore subject
to the jurisdiction of the earthly sovereign. In principle, this was a claim
which ruled out any churches other than state churches. This claim was
irreconcilable with a normative Christian natural law imposing obli-
gations on state and individuals alike. For if the state as the supreme
secular power established the law and was consequently answerable to
no one outside itself, it could not be limited by a possibly competing
natural law. The state’s only natural law was the ratio status, the reason
of state.

Since the only churches permissible to the sovereign state from a legal
standpoint were state churches subject to the state’s jurisdiction, Cath-
olicism, which regarded itself in principle as supranational, found it
impossible to accept the notion of sovereignty as developed in public
law. With the passage of time, therefore, the regional Catholic churches
were increasingly compelled to approximate to the state church pattern,
as happened in France®! — with the assistance of French jurists — and as
was attempted in the Josephinism of the eighteenth century in Germ-
any — again with the help of the jurists, only this time the imperial ones.°*

58-N. O. Keohane, Philosophy and the State in France (Princeton, N.J., 1980).

°°? Cf. Schmitt, Die Diktatur (note 55), 40; H. Quaritsch, Staat und Souverdnitat
(Frankfurt-on-Main, 1970).

6° F. Meinecke, ‘Die Idee der Staatsraison’, in F. Meinecke, Collected Works, vol. 1, 3rd
edn (Munich, 1963).

6! V. Martin, Les Origines du Gallicanisme, vols. 1-2 (Paris, 1939).

6 On Josephinism, cf. H. Jedin, Die Kirche im Zeitalter des Absolutismus und der Auf-
klarung, Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte, vol. v (Freiburg/Basle/Vienna, 1970); E.

512

New structures of knowledge

Where no such attempts were made, Catholic jurists had to withdraw
from the discussion of sovereignty. So it was that the discussion of public
law, which had begun in the universities of Counter-Reformation Cath-
olic Spain, slipped from the hands of Catholic science and, in the early
seventeenth century, with Althusius, Grotius and Hobbes, became the
domain of Protestant jurists and political philosophers.

Human rights

Resistance to the supremacy of the ‘reason of state’ legally embodied in
the doctrine of sovereignty came from two quarters. The ‘anti-
Machiavellian’ party, as it called itself, derived its legitimacy either from
natural law or from the model of a voluntary contract.® In order to
exist, Communities, whatever their provenance, had to apply for per-
mission to practise their religion. Building on the medieval theory of
the contract of government of which Marsilius of Padua was the most
determined defender in his Defensor pacis (1324), they therefore
assumed a secular authority which depended on the general will of the
governed and which could consequently be disregarded in the case of
an illegitimate authority. The criterion of illegitimate rule was the intro-
duction of a false confession, i.e. the ‘other’ confession in each case.
Since the German wars of Reformation, the Dutch struggle for indepen-
dence from Spain, the French civil wars of the sixteenth century and
the English revolution of the seventeenth century,” the contract model,
originally intended to legitimate secular rule, changed its function and
became the instrument for communities who, on religious grounds,
resisted rule by an opposing confession.®

This ‘monarchomach’ theory was advanced by theologians and jurists
of all confessions — by the radical Lutheran Flacius Illyricus,°° by Cal-
vin’s successor in Geneva, Théodore de Béze, by Henry IV’s counsellor
Philippe Duplessis-Mornay,®’ by the Spanish Jesuit theologian,
philosopher and jurist Francisco de Suarez — and systematized by the
Herborn jurist Johannes Althusius in his Politica, methodice digesta
(1603). The Calvinists were on the whole the most consistent ‘mon-
archomachs’; their theory of theological resistance made it possible to

Winter, Der Josefinismus. Die Geschichte des Osterreichischen Reformkatholizismus
(Berlin, 1962).

63 See Gierke, Althusius (note 54), 39 and Reibstein, Volkssouverdnitdét (note 53), 39.

* Cf. R. Saage, Herrschaft, Toleranz, Widerstand. Studien zur politischen Theorie der
Niederlandischen und der Englischen Revolution (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1980).

6° G. Paia, Marsilio da Padova nella Riforma e nella Controriforma (Padua, 1977).

6° W. Schmidt-Biggemann, ‘Althusius’ politische Theologie’, in K. W. Dahm, W. Krawietz
and D. Wyduckel (eds.), Politische Theorie des Johannes Althusius (Berlin, 1988),
213-31.

67 A. Elkan, Die Publizistik der Bartholomdusnacht und Mornays Vindiciae contra ty-
rannos (Heidelberg, 1905).

515

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

regard even the execution of Charles I of England in the year 1649 as
a legitimate act.

A way out of the antagonism between state sovereignty and con-
fessional supremacy was found when the social contract legitimizing
government was accepted and religion, though tolerated, was reduced
to the status of a private matter for the individual. Religion was still
upheld as an individual right but the importance of religious institutions
which might threaten the state and its legitimacy was diminished. We
find here, indeed, the first and most important achievement of jurists
and political philosophers for the establishment of the rights of men and
citizens in the modern sense. The relegation of religion to a private
matter, as demanded by John Locke in his Letter on Tolerance
(composed 1667, published anonymously 1685) and which the jurist
and historian Samuel Pufendorf presented in 1686 as a rational maxim
of public law,®* became for John Locke the pivot and hinge of the idea
of individual rights.®’ For the first time there emerged into view a sphere
which, being private, could be a matter of indifference to the state, a
sphere from which the state could even be argued into surrendering its
claims by legal means. The reduction of religion to political irrelevance
made it possible to define a private sphere of a nation’s subjects. At first,
therefore, religious freedom was the vital part of political freedom; in
John Locke’s view of human rights it was enlarged to ‘the right to life,
liberty and property’.”” The jurist and philosopher of the University of
Halle, Christian Thomasius, developed this theory in his Institutiones
jurisprudentiae divinae (1688) into the theory of the private realm
(decorum).’' Subjects had to respect these liberties in their dealings with
one another if they were to expect tolerance from the state. This is the
juristic core of the idea of tolerance which the Enlightenment helped to
fashion.

Only in a confessionally neutral sovereign state is it possible for indi-
viduals to be happy in their own way. Only the modern secular sovereign
state as envisioned by political philosophy and jurisprudence offered and
still offers the universally guaranteed possibility of a private sphere and
civic tolerance. That was the quintessence of the state theory of enlight-
ened despotism.”

S. Pufendorf, De habitu religionis Christianae ad vitam civilem (Bremen, 1686; reprint
Stuttgart/Bad Cannstatt, 1972).

Cf. Reibstein, Volkssouverdnitdt (note 53).

J. Locke, Second Treatise on Government (London, 1690).

C. Thomasius, Institutiones jurisprudentiae divinae, 7th edn (Halle, 1730; reprint Aalen,
1963).

7 Cf. C. G. Svarez, Vortraige tiber Recht und Staat (1791), ed. H. Conrad and G. Kle-
inheyer (Opladen, 1960).

514

New structures of knowledge

From jus publicum to political economy

The invalidation of the theological legitimation of civil and public law
obligations made it possible for the state to be defined in terms of its
own ‘reason’. This ‘reason’ was the utility of all structures in promoting
the well-being of the state and the effective operation of its institutions.
Since the seventeenth century, when the definition of jurisprudence
became important for the state and the jurists began, for their part, to
stabilize the state by such institutions as a medical inspectorate, adminis-
trative and trading codes as well as new mercantile structures, questions
of canon law became less important and constitutional law, public law
and economics constituted the most important areas of jurisprudence.”
As the most useful science,’”* jurisprudence became the leading science
for the internal structure of the modern state, especially in the German
Empire, the Netherlands, Italy and Scotland.

At the end of the seventeenth century the modern jus publicum
emerged, the public law which studied constitutional and administrative
efficiency and from which the most important stimuli derived for univer-
sity reforms in the eighteenth century.” With Christian Thomasius
(1655-1728) and his school, the University of Halle became the centre
for that version of political jurisprudence which was the first to analyse
thoroughly the Prussian and later medieval system of state adminis-
tration. Because of Johann Georg Piitter (1725-1807),”° the University
of G6ttingen enjoyed special fame in this tradition of public law. How-
ever, arguing historically and pragmatically solely for the benefit of the
state and in its service, the jurists became incapable of dealing philo-
sophically with the question of its legitimacy. The price jurisprudence
paid for its political advance was a loss of critical competence.

Because the modern state was understood in juridical terms, it was
all the easier to define the conditions of its internal order and economy.
Making the state efficient was the purpose of the central European
‘political sciences’ which studied appropriate forms of administration
and the well-being and discipline of citizens, and prepared proposals for
government legislation. The welfare of the state was always dependent
on a flourishing economy. Since the efficacy of government had become
the main task of jurisprudence, the science of economics — located in
the common area of practical philosophy, jurisprudence and politics —

73M. Stolleis, Geschichte des dffentlichen Rechts in Deutschland, vol. 1: Reichspublizistik
und Policeywissenschaft 1600-1800 (Munich, 1988); H. C. Recktenwald, Geschichte
der politischen Okonomie (Stuttgart, 1971).

™ For the difference in France, see Keohane, France (note 58).

7° N. Hammerstein, Jus und Historie. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des historischen Denkens
an deutschen Universitaten im spdten 17. und im 18. Jahrhundert (Gottingen, 1972).

7° Stolleis, Reichspublizistik (note 73), 298-333.

xt)

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

become one of the main scientific tasks of the university. The French
mercantilists based their argument on the needs of a centralized state.
From the time of Johann Joachim Becher (163 5-82), the German cam-
eralists made the small German states within the Empire the basis of
their argument, as their situation required.”” But it was the economists
teaching at the Scottish universities, with their roots in practical philos-
ophy, who were the first to establish the intellectual foundations fOr
economic liberalism. In his Second Treatise on Government, John Locke
defined property as a natural right. Starting from this basis, David Hume
(1711-76), who, contrary to his deepest wish, was not a university
teacher, had described labour and commerce as the essential elements
in an effectively functioning system of government which must guarantee
its subjects material happiness as the fruit of their labours.” Adam Fer-
guson (1763-1816)” and, above all, Adam Smith (1723-90),®° both
professors, systematized these ideas of Hume as ‘political economy’ and
thereby emancipated this science from the mercantilistic and cameralist
contexts, on the one hand, and from moral philosophy on the other.*!

In the course of the seventeenth century, then, jurisprudence replaced
theology as the leading science. The process whereby the state became
sovereign also led to the increasing politicization of jurisprudence. At
the same time, political jurisprudence established the state’s claim to
sovereignty over the churches and this led, in the early Enlightenment,
to the privatization of religion. This privatization of religion also made
it possible to take religious liberty as a model for individual freedom,
for those human rights which belonged to the human being ‘by nature’
and which, in Locke’s view, included life, health, freedom and property.
Whereas England in the eighteenth century was interpreted as a liberal
constitutional state,** the legal constitution of enlightened despotism in
Prussia (Preussisches Allgemeines Landrecht, 1784) and Austria
(Allgemeines Biirgerliches Gesetzbuch fiir die deutschen Erblande, 1811)
towards the end of the eighteenth century was the outcome of the juridi-
cal and political conflict between the claims of state, church and the
individual as debated in political and philosophical circles by an enlight-
ened and educated public trained in part by the philosophical jurists at

7” A, Nielsen, Die Entstebung der deutschen Kameralwissenschaft im 17. Jahrhundert
(Jena, 1911); H. E. Bédecker, ‘Das staatswissenschaftliche Fachersystem im 18.
Jahrhundert’, in R. Vierhaus (ed.), Wissenschaft im Zeitalter der Aufklarung (G6ttingen,
1985), 143-62.

D. Hume, Essays, Moral and Civil (Edinburgh, 1741).

A. Ferguson, Essays on the History of Civil Society (Edinburgh, 1767).

8° A. Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (London,
1776).

Cf. Recktenwald, Okonomie (note 73), 47.

Voltaire, Lettres sur les Anglais (London, 1728).

§16

New structures of knowledge

the universities. The enlightened revolutionary Declaration of the Rights
of Man and the Citizen in August 1789 was also a result of this same
constellation. The third consequence was the redefinition of political
economy as the logical corollary of the recognition of individual and
property rights.

REORGANIZATION OF THE SCIENCES AND THE PRIMACY OF
PHILOSOPHY IN THE ENLIGHTENMENT

Natura metaphysica

At the end of the eighteenth century, enlightened despotism, individual
human rights, or an economy aiming at personal happiness could all
alike’ claim to be ‘natural’. In the eighteenth century, conformity with
nature could be regarded as a basis for theology, politics, law or claims
to property. The concept of ‘nature’ had come an astonishingly long
way since the seventeenth century and the role of philosophy also experi-
enced a transformation in the course of this development. But what sort
of concept of ‘nature’ was this? Was any other concept more polyvalent
than this? Nature was almost everything at the same time: external
nature, nature of the reality into which insight is possible, stabilizer of
political or economic conditions, legal guarantee yet at the same time
object of experience and reason. But in whatever forms nature appeared,
it was always connected with some claim or other of a truth confronted
by human arbitrariness and caprice. It was a guarantee of objectivity.

At first, this unity of the concept of ‘nature’ was guaranteed theologi-
cally. If everything was the creation of the rational God, the rational
creature constituted the unity of nature and, in the nature of things,
legitimized natural theology and natural law. To define and present the
rational principles of the quality of being ‘natural’ was, by definition, a
task for metaphysics; and metaphysics — since it was as a result of the
paralysis of the confessional theologies that it had acquired its new role
as natural theology — now constituted the middle term between academic
theology and philosophy.

When the theology of creation was called upon to help to define meta-
physics, the resultant metaphysics was monotheistic, a theological meta-
physics indistinguishable from natural theology. For natural theology
or metaphysics, all three types of science (Aristotelian, Ciceronian and
Hermetic-Neoplatonic) were at first available in the philosophical facul-
ties of the universities.

Aristotelian metaphysics seemed at first sight to have the best chance
of winning the contest between the different models, since Aristotelian
science was the most securely established in the universities. This was

517

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

true especially of learning in the Catholic world since the Council of
Trent,®* and also for Lutheran learning since the beginning of the seven-
teenth century.** The arguments of Aristotelian metaphysics were deter-
mined by the key concept of ‘being’. This concept of ‘being’, the most
universal predicate the mind could propose, had to apply alike to God
and to humanity. This was possible if the existence of God -was the
starting-point. One could then say of God ‘He is’ in the same way that
existence was posited for the creature. The Aristotelian metaphysics was
possible at all only on condition that the predicate ‘being’ was applicable
equally to the nature of God and to the nature of the creature. The most
influential scholastic philosopher of the Baroque period, the Spanish
Jesuit Francisco de Suarez, based his Disputationes metaphysicae
(Salamanca, 1597) on this (Scotist) thesis. If these assumptions were
accepted — and Catholic and Lutheran orthodoxy were equally prepared
to accept them — then it was clear also that a logic based on the copula
‘is’, 1.e. on a form of ‘being’, is useful for the solution of theological
problems. Such statements as ‘This is my body’ or ‘Jesus is the Christ’
were indeed logical utterances with a claim to being true. Even theologi-
cal problems as such were problems of ‘being’. It was therefore possible,
in the Catholic realm, to treat Christ’s presence in the sacrament or, in
Lutheranism, the incarnation of Christ, as problems of logic and meta-
physics®’ and in this way to show the scientific character of theology
and its convergence with nature and reason.

In order to do justice to the task of natural theology (defining the
relationship between God, humanity and the world), the Hermetic-
Platonic sciences also had to begin from creation. They had no need, of
course, to define the dependence of the world, which God had created
‘according to size, number and weight’, as an analysis of the concept of
‘being’. It was also possible, on the contrary, for a concept of metaphys-
ics to start from the idea of a perfect God, a God who has expressed the
fullness of His perfect attributes as harmony in creation. This harmony is
then crowned by humanity as microcosm, simultaneously representative
and interpreter of creation. This metaphysics had two aspects: on the
one hand, it was marked by the insider’s insight into the nature of the
divinely guaranteed perfections; on the other hand, it was visible in the
harmony of the creation. This was presented by the Cambridge Platonist
Ralph Cudworth (1617-88) in his True Intellectual System of the Uni-

83 Cf. G. M. Pachtler (ed.), Ratio studiorum et institutiones scholasticae Societatis Jesu,
Monumenta Germaniae Paedagogica, 2, 5, 9, 16, 4 vols. (Berlin, 1887-94; reprint,
Osnabriick, 1968).

84 Sparn, Wiederkehr (note 41).

85 Sparn, Wiederkehr (note 41).

518

New structures of knowledge

verse.*® After him, this Platonism became increasingly an interest of cul-
tured scholars outside the university: Shaftesbury (1671-1713) took
these ideas as a model for his contemplation of nature;*” Gottfried Leib-
niz presented them in his Théodicée (1710) and his Monadology (1716);
Johann Gottfried Herder*®® and finally Wilhelm von Humboldt’’ devel-
oped on this basis their ‘organic’ philosophy of nature and history. This
metaphysics, therefore, was both inwardly clear and outwardly capable
of being experienced, a priori and at the same time also empirical and
historical.

Historia sive natura

The Ciceronian sciences had no metaphysics of their own; their meta-
physics was always a borrowed one, adapted philologically and his-
torically. In the universities the Ciceronian influences were manifest in
practical philosophy, philology, jurisprudence and historical study. In
their metaphysical statements, the Ciceronian sciences depended on the
history they adapted. If history implied the revelation of natural and
historical theology, the question of the meaning of ‘being’ simply did
not arise, for history took no account whatever of the questions which
constituted this metaphysics. Since the Ciceronian sciences operated
exclusively with concepts of order and presupposed history as experi-
ence, the conceptual conditions of this experience were outside their
purview.

The history which Ciceronianism presupposed and which converged
with the idea of history was of the Hermetic-Neoplatonic science legit-
imated from the original insight into the nature of creation as well as
from the philologically discovered original insights of the Ancients — the
consensus veterum — since the Ancients were closer to the source of
truth.” Finally, God’s creation and God’s action towards humanity,
taken together, were the source of revelation. History, along with poetry,
was oriented by the account of the original divine wisdom. This wisdom
was a secret knowledge which had to be recovered by means of phil-
ology. In the final analysis, it was here that the Ancients had the advan-

86 R. Cudworth, The True Intellectual System of the Universe (London, 1678); Cassirer,

Die platonische Renaissance (note 46).

A. A. Cooper, Earl of Shaftsbury, The Moralist (London, 1705) and A Letter concerning
Enthusiasm (London, 1708).

J. G. Herder, [deen zu einer Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit (Riga/Leipzig,
1784-91). 7

W. von Humboldt, Uber die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaus (Berlin,
1836).

See note 1 on ‘Ciceronian sciences’ and note 15 on the philosophia perennis.

519

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

tage of the Moderns. Among the Ancients were to be found the original,
practical and arcane insights which constituted natural theology. Nature
and history coincided, therefore; they were themselves the object of
experience. The classification of history into historia ecclesiastica, histo-
ria politica, historia naturalis and historia sapientiae -— as presented
insistently by Jean Bodin in his Methodus ad cognitionem historiarum
(1560)7' — defined the area within which it was possible to assemble
historical experiences of and insights into those realities which matched
the capacity of the human mind.

There was no difference at all between this concept of historia and
the concept of nature in jurisprudence; both postulated the concept of
natural law. Indeed, the former was the basis of the latter. Here, too,
the nature of law lay in an original insight into the principles of wisdom
which were the same for all human beings. Only thus was it possible to
grasp the trans-religious and trans-confessional role of natural law as a
stabilizing force. Natural law could be described only in a catalogue of
topoi, basic insights into law having universal validity. For this purpose,
it was necessary — and this is what Leibniz tried to do” — to analyse the
history of law with these topoi in view and to make crystal clear their
obligatory character and interconnections.

Here, too, history was one and the same as nature. For it was only
with Kant’s Grundlegung zu einer Metaphysik der Sitten (1786) that the
autonomy of reason as a legal principle became philosophically clear.
What jurisprudence had to do was to find the genuine natural wisdom
which every human being could know in the treasury of history or in
the created order of nature and humanity. This was a task of criticism
which also called for a classification method: the systematization and
arrangement of the insights of practical wisdom according to criteria.
This applied to all forms of modern legal sciences; the justitia universalis,
the Christian natural law,” political jurisprudence, public law”* and the
law of sovereignty.”

The theory of the Christian natural law and the theory of sovereignty
were fixed at the beginning of the eighteenth century. There was now a
shift in the role of jurisprudence. It no longer legitimated the state from
within by the presentation of social contracts, constitutional proposals,
or global theological and political projects but, on the contrary, stabil-
ized the state from within by means of the specific institutions with their

*! Seifert, Cognitio historica (note 23); Schmidt-Biggemann, Topica universalis (note 2),
30.

H. P. Schneider, Iustitia universalis. Quellenstudien zur Geschichte des christlichen Na-

turrechts bei Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1967).

Schneider, Iustitia universalis (note 92).

Stolleis, Reichspublizistik (note 73), 42.

Quaritsch, Staat (note 59). Cf. Schmitt, Der Nomos (note 55).

92
93

94
95

520

New structures of knowledge

historical legitimating role. By being commissioned in this way, jurispru-
dence in the universities forfeited its philosophical competence as legi-
timator and critic of the state. This task returned to the philosophers:
in the eighteenth century, the field of political philosophy was redefined
by Montesquieu, Christian Wolff, Rousseau, Hume and finally Kant -
of whom only the Germans were university teachers.

Jurisprudence, on the contrary, classified and systematized the natural
law, the law of sovereignty and the jus publicum from historical and
systematic standpoints. This method did not differ from the classification
requirements laid down for the natural science of the Enlightenment by,
for example, Buffon (1707-88)** or Linnaeus (1707-78).”’ What nature
offered — if in coded form — were the insights which could also be
reached in history. That was already something which had been known
since the Novum organum (1620) and Instauratio magna (1624) of
Francis Bacon. As the sphere of experience and order, nature contained
all natural and historical truths. In the discovery of these truths, the
natural, metaphysical and juristic sciences coincided since, for them all,
nature was the norm, which came before all individual experience.

Nature was a realm which was dependent neither on human will nor
on politics. It was evidence of the greatness of God and His order, in
the face of the themes of positive revelation disputed among the theo-
logians. At the same time, it was not at the mercy of alternating good
and bad actions; it was stable, both in its regularity and in the mechan-
ism of this regularity. Its independence of human and political conflict
made nature the true area of innocent instruction regarding order, econ-
omy, law and wealth. Therefore, the concept of nature was valid for all
the sciences, for theology and medicine, for jurisprudence and
philosophy.

From hylomorphism to mathematics

The most significant change in the concept of nature in the early modern
period was that the inner structure of nature, which had been described
in the sixteenth century wholly in terms of the model of hylomorphism,
came to be increasingly understood in mathematical terms from the sev-
enteenth century onwards. It was not in the conservative Aristotelian
universities that this decisive change mainly came about, but on the con-
trary in intellectual circles outside the universities interested in natural
philosophy and in the scientific academies and societies.

7° G. L. L. De Buffon, Histoire naturelle générale et particuliére, 44 vols. (Paris, 1749-
1804).

*” C, Linnaeus, Systema naturae (1735), complete in 3 vols. (Stockholm, 1765-8). On the
general context, see W. Lepenies, Das Ende der Naturgeschichte (Munich, 1976).

521

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

The hylomorphist model of nature in university Aristotelianism had
as its origin the ancient division of the world into the astral sphere and
the earth, the translunary world and the sublunary world. In its phenom-
enal state, the earthly sphere, that of becoming and perishing, was
inaccessible to the mathematical treatment which seemed evidently
appropriate for the astral world. The sublunary world could be analysed
in the same way as all existents could be analysed, i.e. in terms of matter
(hylo-) and form (morphe). The forms of an entity were what constituted
it, i.e. what could therefore be predicated of that entity. The matter of
an entity then guaranteed its objective existence outside the mind.

For the transformation of the inner structure of the concept of nature,
the decisive point was that now not only the astral sphere but also the
earthly sphere was considered appropriate for mathematical treatment.
This amounted to a basic shift both in the concept of nature and in the
phenomenal state for which the concept of nature was relevant. If the
hylomorphist concept of nature was supremely appropriate for the
movement, coming into existence, and departure of plants and animals,
if this concept of nature also embraced the area later known as biology,
then the new concept of nature, the mathematized concept, was suited
to explain mechanical movements. This new account of nature became
possible with the teachings of Galileo, professor of mathematics at the
. University of Padua, and Descartes, by the application of astronomical
geometry and the recently developed algebra to mechanical earthly
phenomena.”

In this transformation of the concept of nature could be seen at the
same time the long-term influence of the concept of the artes liberales
in late Antiquity. The ‘mathematical’ sciences of the quadrivium — music,
astronomy, geometry and algebra (as also taught in the mathematical
disciplines in university philosophical faculties) - demonstrated the lead-
ing role of Aristotelian physics and metaphysics, since hylomorphism
had been replaced by a geometry of movement, i.e. mechanics. It was,
in any case, possible to understand astronomy in terms of Pythagorean
mathematics, and this Pythagorean Neoplatonism, as represented, for
example, in Kepler — at the fringe of court and university” — could define
astronomy as a geometrical constructional science. On this basis, it was
possible to interpret the theology of the mathematical God as a natural
theology of creation. Space and time were presupposed theoretically in

°8 Summary in E. J. Dijksterhuis, The Mechanization of the World Picture (Oxford, 1981);
English translation of De mechanisering van het werldbeeld (Amsterdam, 1950). On
the philosophical consequences, see H. Blumenberg, Die Genesis der kopernikanischen
Welt (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1975).

*° J. Kepler, Mysterium cosmographicum (Tibingen, 1596); J. Kepler, Harmonice mundi
(Linz, 1619).

522

New structures of knowledge

astronomy. If this was true for the whole of creation, it was also possible
to reconstruct the physical earthly movement in geometrical terms.
Pierre Gassendi (1592-1655) essayed an atomistic reinterpretation of
the constructive elements of nature and, in this way, saw nature as a
construction of parts in space.’°? Galileo saw the ‘book of nature’ as
written in geometric letters.’°’ For the physical description of nature as
such, Descartes admitted only quantitative mechanical measures,'”* and
Newton deciphered this mechanism arithmetically. This revolutionary
new view of physics, which Cartesianism equipped with a new meta-
physics of consciousness (res cogitans), extension (res extensa), and a
God guaranteeing orderly movement in space, this physical and at the
same time metaphysical revolution discredited the Aristotelian scholastic
model of metaphysical hylomorphism and all its conceptual con-
sequences.

The mathematical revision aided the development of the concept of
nature in the early modern period, for this conceptual change brought
with it a shift in the relationship between theology and philosophy. In
the shade of the leading science, jurisprudence, and the obligatory peace
decreed by the state for the theologies, the new concept of nature became
the area which was undisputed between the confessions. Independently
of doctrinal disputes, it was possible to demonstrate the greatness of
God from nature and this by philosophical means. Philosophical apolo-
getics — which was practised in the aftermath of theological Cartesianism
between the Recherches de la vérité (1675) of Nicolas de Malebranche
and John Locke’s Reasonableness of Christianity (1695) — was able to
demonstrate the quality of the world metaphysically with the divine
attributes of love and omnipotence, for there had to be a similarity
between the creation and the good Creator. With its theory of ‘the best
of all possible worlds’, Leibniz’s Théodicée joined the apologetic natural
philosophy of the seventeenth century and, together with the metaphys-
ical interpretation of Newton’s physics, largely shaped the natural phil-
osophy of the Enlightenment both positively and negatively.'™

In this natural philosophy, the order of the world was classified and

100

P. Gassendi, Syntagma philosophiae Epicuri (Lyons, 1649).

G. Galilei describes this especially vividly in I] saggiatore, in Opp. ed. nazionale, vol.
vI (Florence, 1890-1909), 232. Cf. also G. Galilei, Dialogo sopra i due massimi sistemi
del mondo, tolemaico e coperniano (Florence, 1632), in Opp. ed. nazionale, vol. vm
(Florence, 1890-1909), 21-520 and G. Galilei, Discorsi et dimostrationi matematiche
intorno a due nove scienze attenti alla mecanica & i movimenti locali (Leiden, 1638),
in Opp. ed. nazionale, vol. x (Florence, 1968), 39-312.

R. Descartes, Principia philosophiae, 1, Oeuvre, ed. by C. Adam and C. Tannéry, vol.
vil (Paris, 1905), 78ff.; De principibus rerum materialium, part 11, 40-9.
Schmidt-Biggemann, Theodizee (note 48), 7-116.

101

103

523

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

admired, all the way from Derham’s Astro-theology and Fontenelle’s
Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes to the Abbandlungen iiber die
Kunsttriebe der Thiere by the Hamburg philologist, philosopher and bib-
lical critic Hermann Samuel Reimarus. But since the ways of describing
the theology of nature were exclusively philosophical, this philosophia
naturalis ad maiorem Dei gloriam gradually turned against its apologetic
purpose. If philosophy was in a position to establish the revelation in
nature, and if it diminished interest in the scriptural revelation which,
in any case, had been disqualified by its own dogmatic consequences
and problems, then philosophy was also able to assume the role of judge
in relation to the scriptural revelation.'°* Thanks to the new rationality
of nature, philosophy in the university also found itself in a position to
become critical. This was the origin of rationalist biblical criticism and
the basis which enabled critical philosophy to become the leading science
in the universities at the close of the Enlightenment.

The decline of the Ciceronian sciences and the redefinition of
philology and history

Philology, which along with history had always been a constitutive part
of the Ciceronian historical sciences, had originally strong ties with the-
ology. It was guardian of the ‘hoard’ of heavenly history, it administered,
kept accessible and published the divine wisdom originally revealed in
sacred and profane history. In the exercise of this function, philologists
edited ancient texts and provided polyhistorical commentaries summar-
izing the wisdom of the western historia litteraria. To this end were
published the thesauri of the classical languages: the Thesaurus graeca
linguae (1572ff.) of Henricus Stephanus (Estienne), the Lexicon totius
latinitatis (1771) of E. Forcellini and the Lexicon hebraicum et chal-
daicum (1607) of Johann Buxtorf. Attempts at a uniform chronology
were based on these works: the De emendatione temporum (1583) of
Joseph Justus Scaliger as well as the Thesaurus chronologiae (1624) of
Johann Heinrich Alsted.

The compiling of philological knowledge was the aim, above all, of
the great philological encyclopaedias. This applies not only to Johann
Gottfried Seidelbast’s four-volume Historia omnium scripturarum, tum
sacrarum tum profanarum (1697-1700) but, above all, to the Biblio-
theca graeca, latina et mediae et infimae latinitatis (1734-46)'” of
Johann Albert Fabricius and to the four-volume Bibliotheca hebraea

104 Lechler, Deismus (note 50); E. Hirsch, Geschichte (note 50).

105 J. A. Fabricius, Bibliotheca graeca (Hamburg, 1704-28); J. A. Fabricius, Bibliotheca
latina (Hamburg, 1697); J. A. Fabricius, Bibliothecae mediae et infimae latinitatis
(Hamburg, 1734-46).

§24

New structures of knowledge

(1715-33) of his pupil Johann Christoph Wolff.’°* The core of this phil-
ology remained the revelation of the manifold wisdom of God in biblical
and profane history. The development of the different philologies
depended on this philology of revelation. This applied to classical phil-
ology which edited church fathers and pagan authors side by side; it
also applied to orientalistics, which was first established as an auxiliary
science for studying the Hebrew Bible, as can be seen from the philol-
ogist Samuel Bochard (1599-1667) or Edward Pocock (1604-91). All
the great philologists from Petrarch to Poliziano, from Erasmus, Budé
and Melanchthon down to the Dutch scholars, Joseph Justus Scaliger,
Johannes Georgius Graevius, Johannes Fredericus Gronovius and his son
Jacob, stood within the tradition of this philology, which was interested
in the principles of the wisdom of biblical and pagan revelation. So, too,
did the most outstanding Catholic biblical philologists, the Oratorian
Richard Simon, the Anglican Edward Pocock and also the Géttingen
Lutheran orientalist Johann David Michaelis.’

A change was signalled with Richard Bentley, the Oxford classical
scholar (1662-1742). Certainly his starting-point was still the unity of
revelation but, for him, the order of natural revelation, the metaphys-
ically interpreted order of the Newtonian universe, already provided the
measure for the truth claim of ancient and Christian writings. History
as the repository of divine wisdom was replaced by the natural order.’
In Bentley’s case, too, this was an indication that the elements of
Ciceronian science were falling apart. The concept of a divine wisdom
revealed in sacred and profane history had held philology and history
together. Originally, nature was only a part of universal historical
experience. With the new enlightened concept of nature, now interpreted
in mathematical terms and not by loci communes, the unity of history
as the area of experience was lost. In the apologetic concept of theodicy,
nature alone became the rational proof of God; since Voltaire’s new
conception of profane universal history, salvation history was excluded
because it was an apologetic science.’” This was the thesis of Voltaire’s
major work Essai sur les moeurs et esprit des nations (1763). Philos-
ophy thereby became the court of appeal where the criticism of religion
opposed the scriptural revelation. Literacy and history acquired a new
status. They had to be measured by the natural order. For philology that

106 J. C. Wolff, Bibliotheca Hebraea, 4 vols. (Hamburg, 1715-34).

107 See above all, J. E. Sandys, A History of Classical Scholarship, 3 vols. (Cambridge,
1903-8); U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Geschichte der Philologie, 3rd edn
(Leipzig/Berlin, 1921).

108 See on this R. Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship from 1300 to 1850 (Oxford,
1976), 143ff.

109 Voltaire, Essai sur les moeurs et l’esprit des nations (Geneva, 1756). On the context,
see K. Léwith, Meaning in History (Chicago, Ill., 1949).

525

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

meant the complete unloading of theological claims and, at the same
time, a material loss of competence. The result: a more emphatic formal-
ism and, to the extent that it became a purely textual science, philology
also lost in the Enlightenment its key position for the historical sciences.
The bond between history and philology was thus loosened. From the
first half of the eighteenth century onwards, history also had its place
in jurisprudence’’® and furnished practical arguments for the eclectic jur-
ists.'"' From the eighteenth century onwards, historical truths were no
longer regarded as indicators of divine wisdom even in theology; this
wisdom was divided into the history of language and the history of facts.

Even the Bible thus became just one source among many. This process
of desacralization made the Bible the object of philological and substan-
tive criticism and no longer the axiomatic foundation. Whereas the con-
vergence of nature and revelation was asserted in English deism
(Toland’s Christianity not mysterious),''* Reimarus attempted to con-
front the Bible with the newly acquired concept of nature.‘ If the credi-
bility of the Bible was not to be destroyed, it had to be reinterpreted
moralistically. The gradual loss of biblical credibility in the eighteenth
century is also a token of the changed conception of philology. Without
the bracket of Christian Ciceronianism, and relieved of the concept of
historical revelation, the various forms of philology were free to concen-
trate on their own substantive questions and their own histories. The
fact that the individuality of languages was coming to be defined as the
educational principle of nationality, above all in connection with the
new evolutionary concept of history since Johann Gottfried Herder
(1744-1803) and Giovanni Battista Vico (1688-1744), together with
the fact that folklore and philology were now combined, also help us
to understand attempts to find a new unity for the increasingly distinct
individual philologies in the shape of a new speculative concept of
history.'"*

The role of the one historical divine revelation did not remain unfilled,
however. The cultural Hellenism of the eighteenth century which, adopt-
ing Neoplatonic elements, took as its basis the Geschichte der Kunst des
Altertums (1764) by Johann Joachim Winckelmann (1717-68), was, in
the German-speaking area at least, also the consequence of the inability
of theology to perform any function for philology. The Renaissance and
Baroque revelation philology had taken its bearings from the unity of

Hammerstein, Jus und Historie (note 75).

Schmidt-Biggemann, Theodizee (note 48), 31-50, 203-22.

Lechler, Deismus (note 50), 62.

H. S. Reimarus, Apologie oder Schutzschrift fiir die verniinftigen Verebrer Gottes
(completed around 1765 and first published Frankfurt-on-Main, 1972).

14 The work of W. von Humboldt is particularly important here.

526

New structures of knowledge

Christian and pagan Antiquity; that was its philosophia perennis. In the
latter half of the Enlightenment, this guiding role was assumed by the
‘noble simplicity and quiet greatness’ of Greek Antiquity. Winckel-
mann’s combination of philology and philosophy, which helped to shape
the Humboldtian university of the nineteenth century and culminated in
Nietzsche’s new picture of the Greeks, is also essentially the result of
the redefinition of philology from the Enlightenment onwards.

Critical philosophy: the judge of the sciences

Within the universities, the reconstituted areas of nature and history and
even the rearrangement of philology fell within the competence not of
the higher faculties but of philosophy. The contemplation of the laws
and beauties of nature and the possibilities of a mechanical account of
nature in which astronomy and physics combined forces lay outside the
subject matter of confessional theology. Although nature remained the
theme of natural theology, theology as a whole was confessionally
organized. Natural theology’s place, therefore, was not within insti-
tutionalized theology but within the area of philosophy. The bond
between philology and theology had been severed because of the new
role of natural theology. Winckelmann’s Hellenic ideal, for which the
Neoplatonic Cambridge school had paved the way and which had later
been strengthened in the direction of aesthetics by Shaftesbury, replaced
the beauty ideal previously based on theology. This graecophile attitude
became constitutive for Wilhelm von Humboldt’s concept of education,
which was axiomatic for his university reform.

Since Voltaire’s secularized philosophy of history — and still more
intensely since Herder’s Ideen zu einer Philosophie der Geschichte der
Menschheit (1774) — the role of the old salvation history was taken over
by this universal philosophical history. This process culminated in the
nineteenth century with Hegel’s philosophy of the state and history. To
the extent that it argued on the basis of natural law, jurisprudence pre-
supposed a philosophical concept of nature; in public law, in order to
maximize government efficacy, it rang the changes on those normative
claims of natural law which also implied human rights, and on consider-
ations of utility and historical origin.

The old ideal of scholarship based on the unity of historia litteraria,
naturalis, politica and ecclesiastica had disintegrated in the second half
of the eighteenth century. Confessional theology neither bound the new
conceptions of nature nor was capable of dominating philology in its
various forms. Jurisprudence allied itself increasingly with practical
government administration, and as a result was no longer able to fulfil
its ancient and also philosophical and political task of legitimating the

527

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

modern state as such, whether as an absolute state or as a state based
on natural law. On the other hand, all the sciences in the main used the
new concept of nature as the basis of their arguments: the supraconfes-
sional philosophical theology in the concept of natural theology, philo-
sophic jurisprudence in the concept of the law of nature, particularly in
the school of Christian Wolff. The concept of nature was common
ground for theology, jurisprudence and philosophy. But since theology
in the universities (because of its particular confessional ties) and juris-
prudence (because of its servicing connection with the state) were unable
to explore fully all the resources of this concept, it became the task
of philosophy in the latter half of the eighteenth century to interpret
autonomously the concept of nature as natural law, as natural religion,
as humanity.

Philosophy was thus able gradually to become itself judge of the
relation between nature and religion and the relation between nature and
state. As Kant had firmly established at the end of the Enlightenment,
philosophy could legitimate the state philosophically by means of the
concept of natural law, just as the jurists could,’’? and comprehend
religion naturally ‘within the limits of pure reason’,'’® just as also the
theologians could. Unlike theology and jurisprudence, however, it was
able to do both at one and the same time on the basis of its own newly
acquired competence, for, in the tradition of the Christian Wolff school,
it stabilized its theoretical concept of reason by the methodical treatment
of nature and it qualified the concept of practical philosophy by the
critical treatment of history. This was the tradition of eclecticism.''’
When Kant attributed to philosophy critical competence for experience
over its entire range, he presupposed the autonomy of reason. Critical
philosophy described the mechanical yet rational regularity of the natu-
ral realm and tested the claims of practical experience, history and revel-
ation against the autonomous regularity which could be constructed
analogously to nature. Thus, in a non-partisan and autonomous way,
philosophy demonstrated its independence of religion and politics. It
conceived its role to be that of a non-partisan administrator of a distinc-
tive autonomous truth over and against the claims and dictates of heter-
onomous institutions not defined by reason.

At the end of the eighteenth century, philosophy acquired, with Kant —
even in the universities — the office of judge over the sciences which
Gassendi and Descartes, Locke and Leibniz had demanded a century
earlier. As judge over the sciences, philosophy in the Enlightenment

1 I. Kant, Metaphysik der Sitten (K6nigsberg, 1797).

"6 J. Kant, Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft (Konigsberg, 1793).

"7 Schmidt-Biggemann, Theodizee (note 48), 7-61, 202-23; H. Holzhey, ‘Philosophie als
Eklektik’, Studia Leibnitiana, 15 (1983), 20-9.

528

New structures of knowledge

assumed its new role as leading science and in the process reorganized
itself both institutionally and theoretically. In the course of the eight-
eenth century — with the rationalist school of Christian Wolff and the
scepticism of Hume - it developed into an autonomous branch of intel-
lectual activity and — with the critical approach to history in German
eclecticism and with Voltaire’s project of a profane universal history —
into the judicial and indeed critical appeal court of historical experience.
Philosophy defined natural theology and the historically and critically
enlightened theology. Philosophy established the criterion of the rational
natural law and public law.

The paralysis of confessional theology had rendered new theological
foundations and a new but still political legitimation of sovereignty
necessary. Both these tasks had been accomplished by the revision of
the concept of nature, by the concept of natural theology and that of
natural law. But because theology remained confessional and jurispru-
dence became political, philosophy was able to become the leading sci-
ence, a position to which it laid claim during the Enlightenment and in
the end attained.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Alsted, J. H., Cursus encyclopaedia libris 27 complectens universae philosophiae
methodum, Herborn, 1620.

Barner, W. Barockrhetorik. Untersuchungen zu ihren geschichtlichen Grund-
lagen, Tiibingen, 1970.

Blumenberg, H. Die Genesis der kopernikanischen Welt, Frankfurt-on-Main,
1975.

Brockliss, L. W. B. French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
Centuries. A Cultural History, Oxford, 1987.

Debus, A. G. The Chemical Philosophy. Paracelsian Sciences and Medicine in
the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, New York, 1977.

Garin, E. (ed.) Storia della filosofia italiana, Turin, 1967.

Grabmann, M. Die Geschichte der katholischen Theologie seit dem Ausgang
der Vaterzeit, 2nd edn, Darmstadt, 1974.

Hirsch, E. Geschichte der neueren evangelischen Theologie im Zusammenhang
mit den allgemeinen Bewegungen des europdischen Denkens, 5 vols., Gii-
tersloh, 1949-54.

Hoffner, J. Christentum und Menschenwiirde. Das Anliegen der spanischen
Kolonialethik im Goldenen Zeitalter, Trier, 1947.

Jedin, H. (ed.) Handbuch der Kirchengeschichte, vol. tv: Reformation, katho-
lische Reform und Gegenreformation; vol. v: Die Kirche im Zeitalter des
Absolutismus und der Aufklarung, Freiburg/Basle/Vienna, 1967, 1970.

Keohane, N. O. Philosophy and the State in France, Princeton, N.J., 1980.

Miiller-Jahncke, W.-D. Astrologisch-magische Theorie und Praxis in der Heil-
kunde der frithen Neuzeit, Wiesbaden/Stuttgart, 1985

529

Wilhelm Schmidt-Biggemann

Pfeiffer, R. History of Classical Scholarship from 1300 to 1850, Oxford, 1976.

Quaritsch, H. Staat und Souverdanitat, Frankfurt-on-Main, 1970.

Recktenwald, H. C. Geschichte der politischen Okonomie, Stuttgart, 1971.

Reibstein, E. Volkssouverdanitat und Freiheitsrechte, 2 vols., Freiburg/Munich,
1972.

Sandys, J. E. A History of Classical Scholarship, 3 vols., Cambridge, 1903-8.

Schmidt-Biggemann, W. Topica universalis. Eine Modellgeschichte der huma-
nistischen und barocken Wissenschaft, Hamburg, 1983.

Schmitt, C. Der Nomos der Erde und das Ius Publicum Europaeum, Cologne,
1950.

Schmitt, C. B., Skinner, Q., Kessler, E., Kraye, J. (eds.) The Cambridge History
of Renaissance Philosophy, Cambridge, 1988.

Stolleis, M. Geschichte des 6ffentlichen Rechts in Deutschland. vol. 1: Reichs-
publizistik und Policeywissenschaft 1600-1800, Munich, 1988.

Uberweg, F. Die Philosophie der Neuzeit bis zum Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts,
revised by M. Frischeisen—Kohler and W. Moos, Berlin, 1924.

Vierhaus, R. (ed.) Wissenschaften im Zeitalter der Aufklarung, Gottingen, 1985.

Wollgast, S. Philosophie in Deutschland zwischen Reformation und Aufklarung,
Berlin, 1988.

53°

CHAPTER 13

THE SCIENTIFIC
REVOLUTION AND
UNIVERSITIES

€

ROY PORTER

THE UNIVERSITY IN THE DOCK

A key feature of science in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, one
which justifies our calling it a period of scientific revolution, rather than
one merely of change, is the conviction of so many of its protagonists
that orthodox science was comprehensively defective: wrong in its meta-
physics and methods, wrong in its facts and theories, wrong in its ethos
and outlooks. Critics ranged from radical outsiders such as Bruno, Cam-
panella and the sectaries of the English Revolution, right across to tem-
peramental conservatives such as Tycho Brahe and Gassendi. But they
expressed a common contempt for the entrenched science of the scholas-
tics. And in rejecting the schoolmen, they whipped the schools. For
Tycho, the new astronomy had to overturn ‘the oppressive authority of
Aristotle in the Schools’.’

The judgement of science in the early modern era rang out loud
against the failings of the universities. From at least the moment when,
on taking up his chair in Basle, Paracelsus made a public bonfire of the
works of Avicenna and Galen, through to Bruno’s vitriol against the
dunces of late Tudor Oxford, and way beyond, an anatomy of abuses
issued from the lips of iconoclasts. The universities neglected science,
claimed would-be reformers. Moreover, in so far as nature was investi-
gated, it was studied bookishly, slavishly following the texts of the Anci-
ents; the main aim was victory in vain, logic-chopping disputations

’ R. S. Westman, ‘The Astronomer’s Role in the Sixteenth Century’, History of Science,
18 (1980), 124. For evidence of contemporary animosity against the universities see R.
F, Jones, Ancients and Moderns: a Study of the Battle of the Books (St Louis, Miss.,
1936); A. G. Debus, Science and Education in the Seventeenth Century: the Webster-
Ward Debate (London, 1970).

531

Roy Porter

rather than truth to nature. University science was a wilderness, bringing
forth neither fruit nor light. In Francis Bacon’s condemnation:

In the customs and institutions of schools, academies, colleges, and similar
bodies destined for the abode of learned men and the cultivation of learn-
ing, everything is found adverse to the progress of science ... For the
studies of men in these places are . .. imprisoned in the writings of certain
authors, from whom if any man dissent he is straight away arraigned as
a turbulent person and an innovator.”

Not only (critics claimed) did universities fail to act as nursing mothers
to science; they positively excluded the most progressive contemporary
investigations. As the Puritan reformer, John Hall, put it, arraigning
Oxford and Cambridge in the 1640s: ‘Where have we anything to do
with mechanic chemistry? ... Where is there an examination and conse-
cution of experiments? ... Where have we constant reading from either
quick or dead anatomies, or any ocular demonstration of herbs?”

It would be hard to find a pre-eminent scientist of the seventeenth
century who didn’t have harsh words for scholasticism and academic
science. Not a few, such as Galileo, made their public name as latter-day
St Georges slaying the dragon of academic inanity.

Not surprisingly, and with good reason, twentieth-century historians
have endorsed this onslaught. Discussing Bruno’s dissection of the
Dunces, Frances Yates depicted Tudor Oxford as ‘predominantly gram-
marian and unscientific’, characterized by an ‘increased Aristotelian
rigidity’, inspired by the ‘Aristotelian party’.* A century later, late Stuart
Cambridge was, according to R. S. Westfall, Newton’s leading biogra-
pher, even worse, ‘fast approaching the status of an intellectual waste-
land’. ‘I am unable to perceive any scientific community in Cambridge,’
he concludes. ‘I am not even sure there was an intellectual community’.°
Controversy continues to rage as to precisely how the Scientific Revol-
ution is to be explained;° but most historians have agreed on one point,

2 F. Bacon, Novum organum (London, 1620), quoted in H. F. Kearney, Origins of the
Scientific Revolution (London, 1964), 144.
> Quoted in C. Hill, Intellectual Origins of the English Revolution (London, 1972), 305.
‘ F. A. Yates, ‘Giordano Bruno’s Conflict with Oxford’, Journal of the Warburg Institute,
4 (1938-9), 231.
> R. S. Westfall, ‘Isaac Newton in Cambridge: the Restoration University and Scientific
Creativity’, in P. Zagorin (ed.), Culture and Politics from Puritanism to the Enlighten-
ment (Berkeley, Calif., 1980). These issues, respecting England and many other Euro-
pean nations, are now extensively discussed in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds.), The Scien-
tific Revolution in National Context (Cambridge, 1992), which contains a lengthy
introduction with an up-to-date bibliography.
For a sample of discussions putting the different viewpoints see G. Basalla, The Rise
of Modern Science (Lexington, 1968); R. Briggs, The Scientific Revolution of the Seven-
teenth Century (London, 1969); Kearney, Origins (note 2); P. Heimann, The Scientific
Revolution (London, 1983).

532

The Scientific Revolution and universities

that the part played by the universities was small.’ ‘The history of this
Scientific Revolution’, writes Sir Eric Ashby, ‘lies almost completely out-
side the universities...In no sense can the universities of Europe be
regarded as instigators of the Scientific Revolution.” J. D. Bernal was
even more emphatic, regarding the universities as a positive hindrance:
‘The great developments of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century science
took place not because of, but in spite of, the place science occupied in
education. All the great scientists up to the middle of the nineteenth
century were self-taught in so far as their science went... science did
not take root in the older universities.””

But this interpretation has been challenged of late. Revisionists are
warning us not to take these flayings of the universities au pied de la
lettre.‘° They were often propagandist or self-serving. In any case, for
every Academiarum examen there was a Vindiciae academiarum."' So
we must go beyond the rhetoric and scrutinize the actual working of
the colleges; and when we do, a rather different picture emerges. True,
most of Europe’s hundred or more universities had little to do with sci-
ence, and those that did were hardly prototypes of Cal Tech (why should
they have been? As Rupert Hall reminds us, ‘universities were expected
to teach boys, not be research institutes’).'* But if the universities were
not oases of science, neither were they utter deserts.

We should not be misled by formal statutes and official curricula. In
many universities where, de iure, traditional studies - Aristotle,

” For expressions of this view see, inter alia, Hill, Intellectual Origins (note 3); P. Allen,
‘Scientific Studies in the English Universities of the Seventeenth Century’, Journal of the
History of Ideas, 10 (1949), 219-53; W. Costello, The Scholastic Curriculum at Early
Seventeenth Century Cambridge (Cambridge, Mass., 1958); Kearney, Scholars and
Gentlemen.

E. Ashby, Technology and the Academies (London, 1966), 4, quoted in a highly illumi-
nating article J. Gascoigne, ‘The Universities and the Scientific Revolution: the Case of
Newton and Restoration Cambridge’, History of Science, 23 (1985), 391.

J. Bernal, The Social Function of Science (London, 1967), 71.

For a sample of revisionist views see M. H. Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge in Transition
1558-1642. An Essay on Changing Relations between the English Universities and
English Society (Oxford, 1959), ch. 9; B. J. Shapiro, ‘The Universities and Science in
Seventeenth-Century England’, Journal of British Studies, 10 (1971), 47-82; R. G.
Frank, ‘Science, Medicine and the Universities of Early Modern England: Background
and Sources’, History of Science, 11 (1973), 194-216, 239-69; N. Tyacke, ‘Science and
Religion at Oxford before the Civil War’, in D. Pennington and K. Thomas (eds.),
Puritans and Revolutionaries. Essays in Seventeenth-Century History Presented to
Christopher Hill (Oxford, 1982), 73-93; M. Feingold, The Mathematicians’ Apprentice-
ship. Science, Universities and Society in England, 1560-1640 (Cambridge, 1984); I.
Adamson, ‘The Administration of Gresham College and Its Fluctuating Fortunes as a
Scientific Institution in the Seventeenth Century’, History of Education, 9 (1980), 13-
25; I. Adamson, ‘The Foundation and Early History of Gresham College, London,
1596-1704’, Ph.D., Cambridge, 1975.

See Debus, Science and Education (note 1) for reprintings of John Webster’s Academia-
rum examen and John Wilkins’s and John Ward’s Vindiciae academiarum.

2 A. R. Hall, From Galileo to Newton, 1630-1720 (London, 1970), 133.

9
10

—"
—"

533

Roy Porter

Ptolemy, Galen and their commentators — held a monopoly, the New
Science had de facto sprung up in the interstices, cultivated through
extra-curricular lectures, private tuition, and ad hoc groupings
(‘seminars’) of teachers and students. Once historians shift their gaze
away from charters and chairs, and start sifting the more personal,
manuscript evidence — students’ notebooks and letters, bibliographies,
library catalogues, lecture notes — they unearth evidence of far more
heterogeneous scientific energies and activities than generally imagined.
For example, a totally obscure don of Corpus Christi College Cam-
bridge, Henry Gostling (fellow from 1667-75), left 120 books. Of these,
no fewer than 23 were mathematical; they included works by Viéte,
Mersenne, Descartes, Wallis and Seth Ward. Gostling’s contemporary,
Ralph Cudworth, left 2,200 books, of which 420 were ‘libri Mathemat-
ici, Medici, Philosophici’; 66 of these were mathematical.’’ So there was
a university within the university. The mid-seventeenth-century Oxford
statutes mention only Aristotle and Ptolemy as texts in natural philos-
ophy and astronomy. But, according to Seth Ward, lecturing was actu-
ally going on in ‘the Atomicall and Magneticall’ hypotheses in physics
and ‘the Copernican in Astronomy’.

Revisionist studies are thus demonstrating beyond question that early
modern universities were not benighted, hidebound, monolithic insti-
tutions which shut their doors and minds to all but a diet of dead science
and medicine, washed down with stale scholastic commentators. Aca-
demic science was quite lively — a fact which could be exemplified at
large through studies of individual institutions and of the careers of pro-
fessors and students. For instance, the late Charles Schmitt has demon-
strated the fruitful interest in botany and natural history springing up
in the sixteenth-century Italian university, a phenomenon paralleled in
Spain, whose universities responded in lively fashion to the flora and
fauna discovered in the New World.’> And Brockliss has shown that,
though the Paris medical faculty had a well-deserved reputation for con-
servatism, nevertheless, student dissertations of the first half of the seven-
teenth century show real receptivity to new ideas.'® Recent research has
shown that northern Italy and the Low Countries were certainly among
the most advanced areas in developing the New Science. This was mainly

8 See Gascoigne, ‘Universities and the Scientific Revolution’ (note 8), 416.

Quoted in R. G. Frank, Harvey and the Oxford Physiologists (Berkeley, Calif.,
1980), 48.

5 See C. B. Schmitt, ‘Science in the Italian Universities in the Sixteenth and Early Seven-
teenth Centuries’, in M. P. Crosland (ed.), The Emergence of Science in Western Europe
(London, 1975), 35-56.

534

The Scientific Revolution and universities

done in the Universities of Padua and Leiden.’’ Feingold’s researches on
mathematics in England convincingly argue that the traditional histori-
ography which argued that the universities lagged behind the metropolis,
in particular Gresham College, is mistaken. For mathematics was fruit-
fully pursued at Oxford and Cambridge — so much so that certain rad-
icals actually attacked the prevalence of mathematics there, seeing it as
artificial, obscurantist and elitist.'®

Thus evidence can be piled up to show that science was quite widely
cultivated in the universities. But still the crucial question remains: what
role — if any — did the universities play in the Scientific Revolution as
such, that extraordinary transformation which, in the words of But-
terfield, ‘outshines everything since the rise of Christianity and reduces
the Renaissance and Reformation to the rank of mere episodes, mere
internal displacements within the system of medieval Christendom’, an
episode in science unparalleled in magnitude: ‘since that revolution over-
turned the authority in science not only of the Middle Ages but of the
ancient world — since it ended not only in the eclipse of scholastic philos-
ophy but in the destruction of Aristotelian physics’?’’

The concept of the Scientific Revolution is not at all transparent and
uncomplicated. Even the term itself is quite a recent coining, having been
introduced, it seems, by Alexandre Koyré only half a century ago.”° No
precise agreement obtains as to the exact nature, scale or timing of the
phenomenon — indeed, so great have been the differences of opinion
regarding attempts to define it, that Arnold Thackray has concluded
that, though it remains ‘a central heuristic device...and subject of
myriad textbooks and courses’, it explains little: ‘with each passing year
it becomes more difficult to believe in the existence or coherence of a
single, unique Scientific Revolution’.*'

Nevertheless, I shall proceed on the assumption that it is valuable to
speak of this Scientific Revolution, and I shall next turn my attention
to specifying its nature.

17 C. S. Maffioli and L. C. Palm (eds.), Italian Scientists in the Low Countries in the
XVIIth and XVIIIth Centuries (Amsterdam, 1989); T. H. Lunsingh Scheurleer and G.
H. M. Posthumus Meyjes (eds.), Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century. An
Exchange of Learning (Leiden, 1975). See also select bibliography.

18 See the work of Feingold, Apprenticeship and Adamson, ‘Gresham College’ (note 10).

19 -H. Butterfield, The Origins of Modern Science 1300-1800 (London, 1949), Viii.

2° A. Koyré, Etudes galiléennes (Paris, 1939), 6-9. For assessment of the scholarship see
R. Porter, ‘The Scientific Revolution: a Spoke in the Wheel?’, in R. Porter and M. Teich
(eds.), Revolution in History (Cambridge, 1986).

21 A, Thackray, ‘History of Science’, in P. Durbin (ed.), A Guide to the Culture of Science,
Technology and Medicine (New York/London, 1980), 28. An excellent up-to-date
survey is P. Corsi, ‘History of Science, History of Philosophy and History of Theology’,
in P. Corsi and P. Weindling (eds.), Information Sources in the History of Science and
Medicine (London, 1983), 3-26.

53)

Roy Porter

THE SCIENTIFIC REVOLUTION

Clearly, the question of the contribution of universities to this Scientific
Revolution must hinge upon precisely how that revolution is viewed.
One influential reading has portrayed it as a ‘long revolution’, occurring
over several centuries, and stretching far back into the Middle Ages.
Butterfield reckoned that the Scientific Revolution ‘popularly associated
with the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries’ in fact reached ‘back in an
unmistakable line to a period much earlier still’;?? and in a similar vein,
Crombie has argued that though ‘from the end of the sixteenth century
the Scientific Revolution began to gather a breathtaking speed’, it should
in fact be traced ‘as far back as the thirteenth century’.*°

This is not the place to explore the vexed question of the legacy of
medieval science. What will be clear, however, is that if we stretch the
concept of the Scientific Revolution backwards in time to include the
later Middle Ages, we automatically commit ourselved to granting the
universities a central role in that revolution. For the corpus of late medie-
val science was through and through a product of that great efflorescence
of scholarship and philosophy attendant upon the institution of the stud-
ium generale and the teaching of Aristotelianism at Paris, Oxford, Bol-
ogna, Padua and elsewhere from the thirteenth century.

Ultimately, however, this reading of the Scientific Revolution as
stretching back smoothly into the Middle Ages treats it too much like
a procrustean bed. The notion of ‘revolution’ properly speaking involves
real discontinuity, and it is not until (to some degree) the sixteenth cen-
tury and (much more so) the seventeenth that we find breaks which are
unambiguous and comprehensive: a rejection of the classical scientific
legacy, the expectation that science can, must and will progress beyond
that of Antiquity, and the actual victory of radically new scientific theor-
ies. There is no room here to spell out in detail the components of the
astonishing changes that transformed the sciences chiefly in the seven-
teenth century. But certain key elements which capture the revolutionary
quality of the seventeenth century are worth stressing. First, many of
the protagonists clearly cast themselves as crusaders for a radically ‘new
science’, engaged in life-and-death struggles against the hidebound
dogmas of the schools: the very titles of Bacon’s New Atlantis, Kepler’s
New Astronomy, and Galileo’s Two New Sciences catch this tone of
embattled innovation. That feeling of novelty is well conveyed by the
experimental natural philosopher, Henry Power, writing in 1644:

2 Butterfield, Origins (note 19), viii.

23 A. C. Crombie, Augustine to Galileo, vol. 1 (London, 1961), 28.

4 An up-to-date survey of recent reassessment of medieval and Renaissance science is C.
B. Schmitt, ‘Recent Trends in the Study of Medieval and Renaissance Science’, in Corsi
and Weindling (eds.), Information Sources (note 21), 221-42.

536

The Scientific Revolution and universities

This is the Age wherein (me thinks) Philosophy comes in with a Spring-
tide; and the Peripateticks may as well hope to stop the Current of the
Tide, or (with Xerxes) to better the Ocean, as hinder the overflowing of
free philosophy: Me-thinks, I see how all the old Rubbish must be thrown
away, and the rotten Buildings be overthrown, and carried away, with so
powerful an Inundation. These are the days that must lay a new Foun-
dation of a more magnificent Philosophy, never to be overthrown: that
will Empirically and Sensibly canvass the Phaenomena of Nature, deduc-
ing the Causes of things from such Originals in Nature, as we observe are
producible by Art, and the infallible demonstration of Mechanicks; and
certainly, this is the way, and no other, to build a true and permanent
philosophy.”

Bacon and Galileo were notably dismissive of the dead hand and dead
mind of orthodoxy, to a degree that finds no parallel, for instance, in
Copernicus or Vesalius, still less in their predecessors. Doubtless, much
of this was rhetoric; doubtless, it was largely caricature schoolmen who
were being accused; doubtless, seventeenth-century natural philosophers
tapped the scholastic legacy more than they admitted.** Yet the
seventeenth century really did witness intense struggle between rival
natural philosophies, and the call for liberation from hidebound ortho-
doxy runs right through the century, culminating in the Ancients versus
Moderns debate and the Battle of the Books, won in science by the
Moderns.

For the standard-bearers of the New Science indeed had a struggle on
their hands. Traditional doctrines had been deeply entrenched in sem-
inaries and universities, in textbooks, curricula and in the educated
mind. Not least they were protected by those watchdogs of intellectual
orthodoxy, the Christian churches, notably the papacy, in such episodes
as the burning of Bruno and the trial of Galileo, but also by other con-
fessions too, as witness the conservative role of Laudian Anglicanism in
early Stuart England. It would be foolish caricature to depict such
struggles as battles between the forces of darkness and the children of
light; yet the seventeenth century remains a cockpit of violent conflicts
between rival natural philosophies, which often resolved themselves into
struggles between old and new, and which resulted - much more so
than in the sixteenth century — in victory for the new.

Moreover, many sciences did undergo fundamental reorientations in
both their conceptual foundations and their fine texture. A few examples
will suffice. In astronomy, geostatic and geocentric systems still pre-
dominated in 1600; but by 1700 all members of the international scien-
tific elite espoused heliocentricity. In 1600, versions of the Aristotelian

2° Quoted by Jones, Ancients and Moderns (note 1), 195.
7° For a new view of what was new and especially what was old in Galileo see W. A.
Wallace, Galileo and his Sources (Princeton, N.J., 1984).

537

Roy Porter

physics of finitude, local motion, and the four elements still held the
floor, in many cases in newly refined and reinvigorated forms; by 1700,
however, one mode or other of the mechanical philosophy had swept
them away amongst influential scientists. Matter theory by then was
formulated not in a language of the traditional four elements and qualit-
ies, but in a language of particles and short-range forces incorporating
new laws of motion and principles of dynamics. Traditional divisions
between science celestial and science terrestrial were eventually under-
mined by Galileo’s discoveries and bridged by Newton’s universal gravi-
tation. Methodologically, observation was encouraged, stimulated by
the development of scientific instruments such as the telescope and
microscope. This opened up new macro- and micro-worlds, both visible
and conceptual, and contributed to that general development of instru-
mentation which was to become such an important factor in modern
science. Going hand in hand with this, experimentation led to new ways
of practising science and of promoting science’s claims to ‘objective
truth’. Moreover, mathematical advances — pre-eminently Descartes’s
coordinate geometry and the Newtonian and Leibnizian infinitesimals —
empowered science to calculate and control fields of knowledge which
had been impressionistic before. Such a list could be vastly extended.*’

These changes, it must be stressed, were not just a ‘paper revolution’,
mere pious hopes for a great instauration;*® they were substantial and
permanent achievements, full of future promise. Taken singly, it is true,
the work of Kepler or Descartes, Galileo or Boyle, created as much chaos
as it resolved. But collectively, their investigations amounted to a pro-
gression of fruitful reformulations of fundamentals until, with Newton
above all, a synthesis was reached widely saluted as coherent, dazzling
in scope and potential, ripe both for solving workaday problems (Kuhn’s
‘normal science’) and for generating future investigations. Newton set
the seal.*’

Thus, the concepts and practice of many individual sciences — kinetics,
hydraulics, pneumatics, optics, etc. - were transformed, and new theor-
ies of nature established. Confidence in physical science led to the exten-
sion of mechanical models to new fields, as for example in Borelli’s

2? 'T. §. Kuhn, The Copernican Revolution (Cambridge, Mass., 1957); A. Koyré, From
the Closed World to the Infinite Universe (Baltimore, Md., 1957); M. Boas, Robert
Boyle and Seventeenth-Century Chemistry (Cambridge, 1958); E. J. Dijksterhuis, The
Mechanization of the World Picture (Oxford, 1981).

Arguably, by contrast, the strivings of the ‘Hermetic philosophers’ of the sixteenth and
early seventeenth century failed to become codified achievements. Cf. F. A. Yates, The
Rosicrucian Enlightenment (London, 1972), and, for a slightly later cadre of reformers,
C. Webster, The Great Instauration. Science, Medicine and Reform 1628-1660
(London, 1975).

See I. B. Cohen, The Newtonian Revolution: with Illustrations of the Transformation
of Scientific Ideas (Cambridge/New York, 1980).

§34

The Scientific Revolution and universities

physiology, and boosted the prestige of natural philosophy, so that it
could become definitive of true knowledge — witness the enthusiasm
shown throughout the eighteenth century for applying Newtonianism to
aesthetics, social and moral philosophy, politics and psychology.*° For
the intellectual radicals of the Enlightenment, science’s successes made
metaphysics and theology look obsolescent. For Locke, philosophy’s job
should be to serve merely as science’s ‘under-labourer’, sweeping aside
the rubbish for science’s ‘master-builders’. For Diderot and d’Alembert,
Priestley and Erasmus Darwin, science was the engine of progress.

It was, I have been arguing, above all in the seventeenth century that
science was transformed. That transformation involved fundamental
reconceptualizations in scientific theory, the overturning of old ortho-
doxies, the establishment of new and enduring scientific concepts. On a
more general plane, it meant new visions of man’s place in nature, and
the establishment of man’s dominion over nature, opening up wide
visions of power (both material and intellectual), of progress, Enlighten-
ment and, not least, the cardinal role of science in society. How do we
explain this extraordinary transformation?

One popular account regards the Scientific Revolution as unintelligible
except when seen as a response to much more profound transformations
which Europe was undergoing. Marxists for instance have seen the
Scientific Revolution as essential to the transition from the feudal to the
bourgeois order. The onward drive of capitalism had been hindered by
technological bottlenecks in its path of commercial, industrial and
imperial expansion. The Scientific Revolution came to the rescue, by
providing scientific and technical solutions. The astronomical revolution,
for example, was science’s answer to the problems of accurate navi-
gation encountered by transoceanic merchant capitalism. Lunar theory
was expected to solve the problem of the longitude. Science, further-
more, would serve as the new religion of the bourgeois order, rationaliz-
ing the social order under natural law.”

Other historians, on a parallel way, have viewed the Scientific Revol-
ution as an epiphenomenon of the Reformation. Protestantism, it has
been claimed, brought in its wake new attitudes towards nature,

°° For eighteenth-century Newton adoration see H. Guerlac, ‘Where the Statue Stood:
Divergent Loyalties to Newton in the 18th Century’, in E. R. Wasserman (ed.), Aspects
of the Eighteenth Century (Baltimore, Md., 1965), 31-4; P. Beer (ed.), Newton and the
Enlightenment (Oxford, 1978).

31 _B. Hessen, ‘The Social and Economic Roots of Newton’s Principia’, in J. Needham and
P. G. Werskey (eds.), Science at the Crossroads. International Congress of the History
of Science and Technology London, June 29th to July 3rd, 1931 (London, 1931), 147-
212; D. Dickson, ‘Science and Political Hegemony in the Seventeenth Century’, Radical
Science Journal, 8 (1979), 7-38. For assessment see J. Ravetz and R. S. Westfall, ‘Marx-
ism and the History of Science’, Isis, 72 (1981), 393-405.

Jo7

Roy Porter

decrying authority, valuing experience and experiment, discrediting
magic and the occult, and seeing nature as a divine instrument. A quite
disproportionate part was allegedly played in the Scientific Revolution
by Protestant scientists.** More recently, it has been argued that a key
role was played in the Scientific Revolution by the coming of the Guten-
berg era. Mass dissemination of accurate, infinitely reproducible infor-
mation through the medium of the printed book killed off superstitious
reverence for old learning, with its endless enbellishments of commentar-
ies, and engendered a climate of scientific controversy, criticism and
competition.*?

Obviously, none of the above readings of the Scientific Revolution can
allow any major initiatory or formative role to the universities. In these
interpretations which stress material culture and social change we would
be led to expect the seedbed of revolution to lie (say) with craftsmen
rather than with scholars, in (say) university-less London rather than in
Oxford, or in Lyons not in Paris, in Amsterdam or Rotterdam rather
than in Leiden, in Geneva not in Pisa. Indeed, in certain of these expla-
nations, above all the Marxist, the universities appear as archetypal bas-
tions of the scientific ancien régime, positive hindrances to change.**

All such hypotheses are to some degree successful in identifying forces
for socio-economic and cultural change which stimulated science in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and ensured its subsequent larger
place in the sun. It is dubious, however, whether the pressures of capital-
ism or of Protestantism can explain the key concepts of the Scientific
Revolution itself. True, there has been no shortage of attempts to dem-
onstrate how the content of the new scientific theories responded to, or
reflected, the economics of emergent capitalism, at least since Boris Hes-
sen’s pioneering ‘The Economic Roots of Newton’s Principia’ (1931).”
Yet these carry little conviction. Gross economic demands, class con-
flicts, or broad religious shifts seem too cumbersome as variables for
explaining the rise or fall of hypotheses such as heliocentrism or atom-

2 For a valuable collection of articles largely dealing with the ‘Protestantism and Science’
debate, see C. Webster (ed.), The Intellectual Revolution of the Seventeenth Century
(London, 1974). For a critique see A. R. Hall, ‘Merton Revisited’, History of Science,
2 (1963), 1-16; Hall writes (p. 10) ‘mind determines social forms’.

33 §. Drake, ‘Early Science and the Printed Book: the Spread of Science beyond the Univer-
sities’, Renaissance and Reformation, 6 (1970), 43-52; E. L. Eisenstein, The Printing
Press as an Agent of Change, 2 vols. (Cambridge, 1979). For a critique see W. Eamon,
‘Arcana Disclosed: the Advent of Printing, the Books of Secrets Tradition and the Devel-
opment of Experimental Science in the Sixteenth Century’, History of Science, 22
(1984), I1I-50.

4 A strong statement is contained in the appendix (‘A Note on the Universities’) to Hill,
Intellectual Origins (note 3).

5° See Hessen, ‘Roots’ (note 31).

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The Scientific Revolution and universities

ism, the struggle between a four- and a three-element chemistry, or the
belief that nature abhors a vacuum.”°

Yet to doubt that knowledge directly reflects society is not to go to
the other extreme, and endorse the view that the Scientific Revolution
did not have a social base at all, precisely because what it did have, and
all it needed, was a mental location. Stimulated by the work of Alexan-
dre Koyré, perhaps the most influential historians of the Scientific Revol-
ution, including A. R. Hall and C. C. Gillispie, and in a more compli-
cated way, Gaston Bachelard, have promoted an idealist interpretation,
which has tended to deny the influence of external social or ideological
pressures upon the creative scientist, often viewing him instead as a soli-
tary genius, working out the profound theoretical transformations
within the confines of his own head.*’ This is a view well exemplified
by an anecdote Gillispie tells of Newton. When an admirer asked, ‘How
do you make your discoveries?’, Newton replied, ‘By always thinking
unto them’.*®

In this rather Romantic view, the Scientific Revolution becomes the
product of individualist pioneers, unworldly, even other-worldly minds
disengaged from the fret of power, politics and prestige, members only
of the ‘academy within’. Embodied in Wordsworth’s Romantic image
of Newton, ‘with prism and silent face, Voyaging through strange seas
of thought alone’, it is typified by Frank Manuel’s vignette of Newton in
Cambridge: ‘an intellectual desert, in which a solitary man constructed a
system of the world’, and endorsed by Westfall’s comment: ‘everything
we know about Cambridge suggests it had little to do as an institution
with leading Newton to the new philosophy’.*° Indeed, it is often pointed
out that Newton spent much of his ‘annus mirabilis’, the year 1665-6
during which he came by many of his greatest discoveries, at home in
rural Lincolnshire, sheltering from the plague. Newton left a famous
account of the discoveries he made between 1665 and 1666 in Cam-
bridge and Lincolnshire:

© For a trenchant critique of the materialist position see A. R. Hall, ‘The Scholar and the
Craftsman in the Scientific Revolution’, in M. Clagett (ed.), Critical Problems in the
History of Science (Madison, Wis., 1962); A. R. Hall, ‘On the Historical Singularity of
the Scientific Revolution of the Seventeenth Century’, in J. Elliott and H. Koenigsberger
(eds.), The Diversity of History (London, 1970), 199-222; A. R. Hall, Ballistics in the
Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, 1952).

For up-to-date assessments of idealist explanations in the history of science see Corsi,
‘History of Science’ (note 21) and P. B. Wood, ‘Philosophy of Science in Relation to
History of Science’, in Corsi and Weindling (eds.), Information Sources (note 21), 116-
36. For Bachelard see M. Tiles, Bachelard: Science and Objectivity (Cambridge, 1984).
8 C. C. Gillispie, The Edge of Objectivity (Princeton, N.J., 1960), 117.

°° F, Manuel, A Portrait of Isaac Newton (Cambridge, Mass., 1968), 133.

° Westfall, ‘Newton’ (note 5), 147.

541

Roy Porter

In the beginning of the year 1665 I found the Method of approximating
series & the Rule for reducing any dignity of any Binomial into such a
series. The same year in May I found the method of Tangents of Gre-
gory & Slusius, & in November had the direct method of fluxions & the
next year in January had the Theory of colours & in May following I had
entrance into ye inverse method of fluxions. And the same year I began
to think of gravity extending to the orb of the Moon, & having found
out how to estimate the force with which a globe revolving within a sphere
presses the surface of the sphere: from Kepler’s Rule of the periodical
times of the Planets being in a sesquialterate proportion of their distances
from the centres of their Orbs, I deduced that the forces which keep the
Planets in their Orbs must be reciprocally as the squares of their distances
from the centres about which they revolve: & thereby compared the force
requisite to keep the Moon in her Orb with the force of gravity at the
surface of the earth, and found them answer pretty nearly. All this was
in the plague years of 1665 and 1666. For in those days I was in the prime
of my age for invention & minded Mathematicks & Philosophy more than
at any time since.*!

Thus, in this interpretation too, the university has scant role in the
Scientific Revolution — beyond, perhaps, giving certain geniuses bed and
board — because it sees genius carrying its own research centre in its
head. But if the broad sociological explanations of the Scientific Revol-
ution assumed too much, this idealist account, surely, denies too much.
For once we subject both the scientists and the science of the Scientific
Revolution to scrutiny, some important patterns emerge of their real
institutional allegiances.

EXAMINING THE EVIDENCE

There are major respects in which the Scientific Revolution was indisput-
ably a product of the university. For one thing, the overwhelming
majority of those who by any criteria made a contribution to that revol-
ution had attended university. A few statistics help bear this out. Thus,
out of the sixty-five late seventeenth-century British scientists important
enough to merit inclusion in the Dictionary of National Biography, 75
per cent of them had been educated at Oxford and Cambridge, and a
further 5 per cent were graduates of other universities.** Similarly, of
the 115 members of the Royal Society of London in 1663, 65 had cer-
tainly attended university.** Attempts to produce similar enumerations
for Europe as a whole would involve dizzying problems of method and

“1 Quoted in A. R. Hall, The Revolution in Science 1500-1750 (London, 1953), 307.
*? These figures are quoted in Gascoigne, ‘Universities and the Scientific Revolution’ (note

8), 393.
43M. Hunter, Science and Society in Restoration England (Cambridge, 1981), 60, 62.

542

The Scientific Revolution and universities

comparability (precisely which education institutions should count as
‘university equivalents’? where does one draw the bottom-line of scien-
tific accomplishment?). But the most cursory glance down the alphabet
of scientific eminences quickly confirms the impression. Aldrovandi
attended Padua, Francis Bacon went to Cambridge, as did Barrow.
Rasmus Bartholin got his education at Dutch universities, the three illus-
trious Bernoullis went to Basle, Boerhaave was educated at Leiden, Boyle
lived in Oxford, Tycho Brahe was educated at Copenhagen, Camerarius
at Tiibingen, Cardano at Pavia and Padua; Giovanni Cassini was taught
at the Jesuit college at Genoa, Celsius went to Uppsala, Cesalpino to
Pisa, Realdo Colombo to Padua, Copernicus to Cracow, Bologna, Padua
and Ferrara; and so on through the alphabet.** Only a tiny proportion of
the top two or three hundred scientists who contributed to the Scientific
Revolution were educated neither at university nor at equivalent colleges
run by religious orders (above all the Jesuits or Oratorians) offering a
comparable higher education. Some of these highly exceptional cases
come from families with means, the son being educated privately. Of
these, Huygens (himself the son of a leading intellectual) and Pascal
spring to mind. Others involve the offspring of families lacking the
wherewithal to buy a college education for their son, who therefore had
to work his way up to eminence the hard way, through other channels.
Thus medical apprenticeship proved the route to fame for the surgeon
Ambroise Paré and the chemist Libavius, just as the pioneer metallurgist,
Biringuccio, won a name for himself through service to Italian princes.
A small number made their own way in the market-place: Leeuwenhoek,
the pioneer microscopist, began as a draper, and Benjamin Franklin
started life as a printer. Yet these remain exceptions. The vast majority
of men who achieved some prominence in the Scientific Revolution, right
through the alphabet from Aldrovandi to Wren, had received all or part
of their higher education at university.

It might appear that to state this is to labour the obvious. Yet, as my
earlier quotation from Bernal shows (‘all the great scientists up to the
middle of the nineteenth century were self-taught in so far as their sci-
ence went’),*’ it is necessary to insist upon it, in order to correct
erroneous stereotypes. Moreover, it is not a completely trivial point. For
in later centuries, by no means such a high percentage of scientific
achievers did attend university or its equivalent. The annals of the field
sciences in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries include many great
names who never matriculated at university — William Smith, the pioneer
geologist, and Alfred Russel Wallace, co-discoverer of evolution by

“ For biographical information I have relied on the C. C. Gillispie (ed.), Dictionary of

Scientific Biography, 16 vols. (New York, 1970-80).
4° Bernal, Social Function (note 9).

543

Roy Porter

natural selection, are just two. Some came from poor families, others
were wealthy gentleman amateurs, educated privately. Similarly in the
practical and experimental sciences, many leading practitioners were to
rise up through the shop or the manufactory. And the same is even true
for the physical sciences. Neither of the first two great professors at
London’s Royal Institution - Humphry Davy and Michael Faraday —-
had been near a university. In the early modern period, however, the
conjuncture of university training with scientific eminence is especially
marked.

One can put this point more strongly. A remarkably high proportion
of the great names of early modern science actually made their career
(or at least embarked upon their career) as professors in university
employment. We hear much of Tycho’s rejection of the rectorship of the
University of Copenhagen (professors were ‘shadow chasers’ he thought,
‘engaged in ideal formalities and empty processions of words’),*° prefer-
ring to run his own research station on the island of Hven; of Coper-
nicus, the cathedral carion at Frauenburg, of the ever-itinerant Kepler,
of Descartes living privately in Holland; and rightly so. But how many
more scientific notables were academics through and through! Albinus
held a chair at Leiden, Aldrovandi at Bologna, Aselli at Pavia, Barrow
in Cambridge, Bartholin at Copenhagen, the Bernoullis at Basle, Boer-
haave at Leiden, Borelli at Messina, Bradley at Oxford, Camerarius at
Tiibingen, Cardano at Pavia and Bologna, Celsius at Uppsala; and so
forth: scores of scientifically creative professors. It is probable that not
until the present century did such a high percentage of top scientists
again hold chairs.

Of course to say that a scientist occupied a chair is rarely to tell the
whole story. Some eminent incumbents (such as Francis Glisson, pro-
fessor of medicine in seventeenth-century Cambridge) were in effect
absentees, appointing deputies to perform their duties. Many, as today,
grouched about the shortfalls of their institution while pocketing their
stipend. Some got out. Galileo was delighted in 1610 to quit his chair
at Padua to become court mathematician and philosopher at the ducal
court of Tuscany in Florence, and Newton of course left Cambridge in
1696 to become Master of the Mint (he did not, however, resign his
chair until 1702). In Galileo’s case, it is arguable that he did his best
work after abandoning academic life (though surely it was the university

“© Westman, ‘Astronomer’s Role’ (note 1), 123. For Tycho see J. L. E. Dreyer, Tycho
Brahe: a Picture of Scientific Life and Work in the Sixteenth Century (Edinburgh, 1890;
2nd edn New York, 1963); W. Norlind, Tycho Brahe: en levnadsteckning med nya
bidrag belysande hans liv och verk, Skansk senmedeltid och Rénassans, skriftserie
utgiven au Vetenskaps-Societeten, 1 (Lund, 1970).

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The Scientific Revolution and universities

which primed him for it).*” But Vesalius produced nothing for anatomy
after he resigned his chair at Padua to become court physician to Charles
V, just as Newton’s scientific output effectively stopped once he left
Cambridge for London.*®

It would be absurd to imply that the university kindled the Scientific
Revolution, merely in light of the fact that many of its leading figures
held chairs. But when we reflect that scientists of the rank and creativity
of Vesalius, Newton, the Bernoullis, Boerhaave, Gessner, Haller, Lin-
naeus, Malpighi, Morgagni, and so forth held chairs through much of
their productive lives, it seems peculiarly perverse to claim (with Ashby)
that ‘the history of this Scientific Revolution lies almost wholly outside
the universities’. For one thing, during the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, it was the universities which provided the livings — paid,
though rarely well-paid, and reasonably secure posts — without which it
is hard to imagine a permanent and stable international scientific com-
munity being supported. Admittedly, from the time of the founding of
the Académie royale des sciences, a handful of regular salaried posts in
scientific institutions became available under royal protection;° as of
course before then, a few men of science here and there were supported
as court astronomers, astrologers, physicians and the like. But the early
modern university was science’s career lifeline.

Moreover, paid university employment for men of science increased
rapidly during this period. Analysis of the establishments of most univer-
sities shows marked expansion. Take, as one example, Oxford and
Cambridge, where the seventeenth-century growth is quite remarkable.
The sixteenth century had seen few foundations indeed: the Linacre
Lectureships in 1527 and the regius professorship of physics in 1540
and 1546. But then Oxford expanded fast in the early seventeenth cen-
tury, gaining the Savilian Professorships of Geometry and Astronomy in
1619, the Sedleian Professorship of Natural Philosophy in 1621, the Earl
of Danby’s Botanical Garden in 1622, and the Tomlins Readership in
Anatomy in 1624. In 1669 the chair of botany was founded. Cam-
bridge’s expansion came slightly later. In 1663 the Lucasian Chair of

4” §. Drake, Galileo at Work: his Scientific Biography (Chicago, Ill., 1978); S. Drake,
Galileo Studies: Personality, Tradition and Revolution (Ann Arbor, Mich., 1970); W. R.
Shea, Galileo’s Intellectual Revolution: Middle Period 16 10-1632 (London/New York,

1977).

“8 R. S. Westfall, Never at Rest: a Biography of Isaac Newton (Cambridge, 1980).

” Ashby, Technology (note 8).

°° See R. Hahn, ‘Scientific Careers in Eighteenth-Century France’, in Crosland (ed.),
Emergence (note 15), 127-38; M. P. Crosland, ‘The Development of a Professional
Career in Science in France’, in Crosland (ed.), Emergence (note 15), 139-60. And R.
Hahn, The Anatomy of a Scientific Institution: the Paris Academy of Sciences 1666-
1803 (Berkeley, Calif., 1971).

545

Roy Porter

Mathematics was founded — Newton’s chair — followed in 1702 by the
chair of chemistry, in 1704 by the chair of anatomy, in 1724 by a chair
of astronomy and geometry.’ Such growth within the university must
of course be seen against the backdrop of a Europe in which the aggre-
gate of universities was steadily rising until it reached approximately
100 by 1650.

If the university was crucial in providing a basic livelihood for science,
it also served many other functions. It afforded a vital induction into
natural philosophy for many students coming face to face with teachers
of great eminence. How great a debt did Kepler owed to Maéstlin, who
taught him at Tiibingen? Or did Newton owe to Barrow in Cambridge?
It is unclear. But that the young students were fired and directed by their
tutors is beyond doubt. Of course by no means all eminent scientific
professors lectured or had pupils. Newton gave just eight lectures a year
(because, however, he lectured on material which then saw light of day
in the Principia, anyone who attended and could follow the lectures was
in an immensely privileged position).

But many leading scientists took great pride in their pedagogic mis-
sion, their power to draw audiences, and to win the allegiance of the
young. Above all, the uniting of the lecturing theatre and the anatomy
theatre in the medical faculties of Renaissance Italy and elsewhere made
the professorial lecture a key site for expounding innovations in anatomy
and pathology and led to long chains of distinguished students sitting
at the feet of eminent professors: Harvey was a pupil of Fabricius, from
whom he may well have derived his interest in both the valves of the
veins and in the foetus; Fabricius in turn had been a pupil of Falloppio,
who himself was the student of Antonio Musa Brassavola, and so
forth.°* The great majority of those who made contributions to medical
science between 1450 and 1650 had had the benefit of a medical edu-
cation at an Italian university. Slightly later, Montpellier, Leiden,
especially under Boerhaave, Halle in the age of Hoffman and Stahl,°?
and then, from the mid-eighteenth century, Edinburgh with Cullen,
Black, the Monro dynasty and James Gregory heading the professori-
ate,’* were to become crucial centres not just for training working phys-
icians but for advancing and disseminating improvements in anatomy

5
52
53

—_

For this see Frank, ‘Science, Medicine and Universities’ (note 10).

See for example J. J. Bylebyl (ed.), William Harvey and his Age (Baltimore, Md., 1979).
For a recent account see J. Geyer-Kordesch, ‘German Medical Education in the Eight-
eenth Century: the Prussian Context and its Influence’, in W. F. Bynum and R. Porter
(eds.), William Hunter and the Eighteenth-Century Medical World (Cambridge, 1985),
177-206.

For the latest survey of Edinburgh medical education see C. J. Lawrence, ‘Ornate Phys-
icians and Learned Artisans: Edinburgh Medical Men, 1726-1776’, in Bynum and
Porter (eds.), Hunter (note 53), 153-76.

546

The Scientific Revolution and universities

and physiology. Linnaeus, the greatest promotor of natural history,
spent all his adult life as a professor at Uppsala. His taxonomic passion
meshed well with his teaching duties, and he pioneered the deployment
of his students as a research team, much as Liebig was to do in organic
chemistry at Giessen in the nineteenth century.”

Universities also clearly provided materials vital for scientific pursuits
which might otherwise have been unavailable or beyond the pockets of
individuals. Libraries, it goes without saying, were important. But books
weren’t all. By the sixteenth century most Italian universities were richly
endowed with physick gardens and natural history collections, which
were augmented over the centuries as identification guides for plants and
fossils.°° The presence of collections in Milan, Bologna, Prague, Leiden,
the founding of the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, with its rich natural
history Collections, and the benefaction of the Woodwardian collection
to Cambridge, put down roots for natural history.°’ Moreover, with the
invention of the telescope, the endowment of university observatories
grew in value (though none matched the great private or royal observ-
atories in importance). Dissection facilities for medical students, and the
gradual emergence of laboratories for chemical experiments, allowed
students to practise and gave tangible reality to collective effort.

But how much organized scientific endeavour did the university stimu-
late? As will be obvious from the contrast with the late nineteenth-
century or twentieth-century university, blessed with research grants,
research students and government contracts, the early modern university
did not, as an institution, habitually foster collective scientific investi-
gation. Yet it frequently served as a precious forum for the meeting of
minds — students, professors, visitors. In the 1650s, for example, Oxford
boasted several groups of science devotees. One, based on All Souls,
included Christopher Wren and John Mayow, with the visiting presence
of Matthew Wren and Robert Boyle. Nearby at Christ Church a coterie
met which included Thomas Willis, John Ward, Richard Lower, Robert
Hooke, Nathaniel Hodges, Henry Stubbe and John Locke. At Wadham
College a ‘seminar’ grew up around John Wilkins, including Laurence
Rooke, Walter Pope, Christopher Wren and Seth Ward. Many of these
men were to make their mark upon science — indeed most were shortly
to become fellows of the Royal Society. Presumably the foundation of
gatherings such as the Accademia del Cimento and the Royal Society

‘> For Linnaeus, see T. Frangsmyr (ed.), Linnaeus. The Man and His Work (Berkeley,
Calif., 1983); S. Lindroth, A History of Uppsala University 1477-1977 (Uppsala, 1976),
92-146. For Liebig see J. B. Morrell, ‘The Chemist Breeders: the Research Schools of
Liebig and Thomas Thomson’, Ambix, 19 (1970), I-46.

°© See Schmitt, ‘Italian Universities’ (note 15).

57 See O. Impey and A. MacGregor (eds.), The Origins of Museums. The Cabinet of Curi-
osities in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Europe (Oxford, 1985).

547

Roy Porter

shows that savants were experiencing the lack of a meeting place for
science, which universities evidently were not fully providing.** But one
should also see such societies beyond the university as continuations in
the outside world of the sorts of scientific networks which seventeenth-
century universities were quite successful in initiating.°? Moreover, they
could be of some research significance. Many of those meeting in the
Oxford coteries in the 1650s were (Robert Frank has argued) self-
consciously pursuing a research programme along the line mapped out
by Harvey. In their different ways, Boyle, Willis, Lower, Mayow, Hooke
all thereafter made Harveyan advances in respiration, fermentation and
muscular activity.

THE UNIVERSITIES AND SCIENTIFIC THOUGHT

I have been arguing that the university was the environment within
which scientific learning was typically transmitted and disseminated and
scientific interests aroused in the early modern period. It was perhaps
indispensable for the emergence of sufficient quantum of the scientifi-
cally literate to generate transformations in scientific activities. This is
not to say that the university was the perfect environment for the
advancement of science. This is surely proved by the fact that most blue-
prints advanced at this time for the ideal scientific milieu envisaged
activity not within the university or seminary, but in some sort of more
specialized, self-contained, independent institution, Bacon’s Solomon’s
House being one such visionary plan, Swift’s Grand Academy of Lagado
being a parody of it.°° Certain approximations to these Utopian visions
came to fruition. Seventeenth-century Europe gave rise to various infor-
mal scientific groupings outside the university — e. g. the circle of savants
surrounding the court of Rudolf II in Prague.®! And at a slightly later
date, more regular gatherings began to gell, such as the Montmor
Academy in Paris, leading to organized scientific academies such as the
Accademia dei Lincei, the Accademia del Cimento, or slightly later the
Académie royale des sciences and the Royal Society of London.® By
bringing many scientists together, free from teaching responsibilities, and

58 See Frank, Harvey (note 14).

°° See chapter 11, pp. 484-7.

60 See the works cited in note 28.

®1 R. Evans, Rudolph II and His World (Oxford, 1973); R. Evans, ‘Learned Societies in
Germany in the Seventeenth Century’, European Studies Review, 7 (1977), 129-51; B.
T. Moran, ‘Science at the Court of Hesse-Kassel: Informal Communication, Collabor-
ation and the Role of the Prince-Practitioner in the Sixteenth Century’, Ph.D., Los Ang-
eles, Calif., 1978.

62 H. Brown, Scientific Organizations in Seventeenth-Century France (1620-1680) (New
York, 1934); M. Ornstein, The R6le of the Scientific Societies in the Seventeenth Cen-
tury (Chicago, Ill., 1928).

548

The Scientific Revolution and universities

often protected from the demands of theological orthodoxy, such insti-
tutions could readily provide more stimulating or secure scientific
environments than the university. Hence, for over a century, the ideal
site for science was not to be the academic world, but the academy, until
the examples of G6ttingen and later Berlin finally taught new ideals of
Lehr- und Lernfreiheit which once more made the university appear the
model of the noble pursuit of truth.® For all that, however, it is hard
to see how science could have established its position in society in the
first place without the basic training and protection given by the
universities.

This point can be reinforced, if one turns from scientific thinkers to
scientific thought. For here a striking correlation reveals itself. Those
domains of science which were most dramatically transformed, and
which enjoyed the most staggering advances during the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, were precisely those prominent in the university
curriculum. We associate the Scientific Revolution from Copernicus to
Newton with radical innovation in astronomy and cosmology, with
transformations in matter theory (the shift from Aristotelian elements
to corpuscular and mechanical philosophy), with new theories of
motion, laws of mechanics, kinetics, ideas of inertia and gravity, with
the triumph of the infinite and the homogeneous universe, governed by
universal natural laws; and not least with the rise of a quantitative and
above all mathematical approach to nature, culminating in Newton’s
Principia mathematica (1687). All these broad fields of science — astron-
omy, physics, mathematics, and, more generally, the philosophy of
nature — had been deeply entrenched in the university since the launching
of the scholastic studium generale based upon the trivium and the qua-
drivium back in the thirteenth century, with its central core of Aristotle,
Euclid, Ptolemy, Alhazen and their commentators.

Although an earlier generation of historians assumed that the science
of the schoolmen soon grew ossified, intensive study of late medieval
and Renaissance academic physics and metaphysics has now modified
that judgement.” It has been shown how various universities — pre-
eminently fourteenth-century Oxford and Renaissance Padua — gener-
ated lively debate in areas such as inertia and motion theory. And
scholars have been discovering what a rigorous spring-clean Aristotelian-
ism underwent during the sixteenth century, with the sloughing off of

6§ See McClelland, State, Society and University.

64 See volume I, chapter 11; C. B. Schmitt, ‘Towards a Reassessment of Renaissance Aristo-
telianism’, History of Science, 11 (1973), 159-93; C. B. Schmitt, ‘Philosophy and Sci-
ence in Sixteenth-Century Universities: Some Preliminary Comments’, in J. E. Murdoch
and E. D. Sylla (eds.), The Cultural Context of Medieval Learning (Dordrecht, 1975),
487-537.

549

Roy Porter

old Arab commentaries and a return to the sources, to the pristine texts,
particularly, following the humanist injunctions, the Greek, and the
absorption of Platonic, Stoic, and other complementary strands of
thought.®

No less importantly, research has shown the great strides made by
mathematics within the Renaissance university. Initially at least in the
Italian universities of the sixteenth century, numerous mathematical
chairs were founded; and such developments were subsequently adopted
elsewhere — particularly under Ramist influence — so that, for example,
one of the great strengths of Jesuit colleges, such as La Fléche which
Descartes attended, lay in their mathematical training. Such develop-
ments are perhaps not surprising. Mathematics after all was critical for
revealing the fundamental harmonies of the universe to a culture steeped
in Platonism and Pythagoreanism.°® Accurate computation was vital for
aiding disciplines like astronomy to serve such fundamental social and
religious purposes as the correction of calendrical errors. Yet mathemat-
ics also vastly increased in purely cultural prestige during the sixteenth
century under the impact of humanism, becoming less exclusively a ser-
vice subject, less a mere propaedeutic, and more a discipline valid in its
own right.°’

Of course the fifteenth-, sixteenth- and seventeenth-century university
taught a natural philosophical framework which was fundamentally
Peripatetic; the whole edifice of metaphysics, morals and theology was
seen as dependent on the solidity and unity of that foundation. Yet
within this Aristotelianism there was much scope for doubt, questioning,
dispute and revision. The doctrine of motion (inertia, impetus) had long
been in hot dispute, as was the question of the relation between the
mathematical and the physical interpretations of the cosmos. Now, the
great transformations of the Scientific Revolution of course involved a
series of repudiations of key Aristotelian dogmas. Yet they were the
work of scholars whose university training had steeped them, not just
in Aristotelian orthodoxies but in the multitude of objections which had
traditionally been raised within the tradition. These scholars were com-
monly adept at using Aristotelian argument against Aristotle, and their

®° For the links between scholasticism and subsequent science see S. C. Reif, ‘The Text-
book Tradition in Natural Philosophy 1600-1650’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 30
(1969), 17-32; C. B. Schmitt, ‘The Faculty of Arts at Pisa at the Time of Galileo’,
Physis, 14 (1972), 263.

°° For developments in mathematics, see F. De Dainville, ‘L’enseignement des mathéma-
tiques dans les colléges Jésuites de France du seiziéme au dix-huitiéme siécle’, Revue
d’histoire des sciences et de leurs applications, 7 (1954), 6-21, 109-23; republished in
F. De Dainville, L’Education des Jésuites (X VIe-X VIIle siécles), ed. M.-M. Compére
(Paris, 1978), 323-54; P. L. Rose, The Italian Renaissance of Mathematics, Studies on
Humanists and Mathematicians from Petrarch to Galileo (Geneva, 1975).

6” Westman, ‘Astronomer’s Role’ (note 1).

3°

The Scientific Revolution and universities

university exposure to mathematics had itself given them powerful tools
for transforming the largely qualitative into a more quantitative formu-
lation of nature. The great scientific revolutionaries rejected Aristotle;
but it was their academic grounding in Aristotle that gave them the
ability to do it. Thus Francis Bacon (educated at Cambridge) repudiated
a priori school logic, but he did so in the name of an inductive logic
remarkably similar to that advanced by Aristotle.°? Harvey (educated at
Cambridge and Padua) for his part rejected Galen’s teaching on the
blood, yet he validated the doctrine of circulation on Aristotelian and
teleological grounds.®’ Descartes (given a scholastic education by the
Jesuits) rejected scholastic doctrines of motion, but advanced a notion
of extension which bears marked similarities to the Aristotelian horror
vacui.’”” And — perhaps the case most ferociously debated amongst his-
torians — Galileo, surely the most vocal anti-scholastic iconoclast of them
all, has been said to have retained and deployed a surprising amount of
scholastic terms and argument, not least in holding on to the doctrine
of the heterogeneity of the cosmos, the division between the sub- and
superlunary orders.’’ To emphasize this point is not to argue a priori
for ‘continuity’; it is rather to suggest that the Scientific Revolution
involved a revolution ‘from within’, in theoretical and academic science.

The Scientific Revolution was most striking in those fields in which
academic training encouraged theory-building according to strict criteria
of rationality and metaphysics. This can be put in another, more negative
form: the Scientific Revolution of the seventeenth century was less suc-
cessful in those domains of inquiry which were marginal to the univer-
sity. There was great activity in chemical experiments, in navigation, in
agriculture, in mining and so forth, and this took place largely outside
the university. But it was not in these fields that whole new scientific
disciplines emerged, replete with powerful new theories.

Thus, at least until the latter part of the seventeenth century, chemistry
was but haphazardly established as a university subject, being pursued
primarily by cliques of alchemists and by practical adepts such as
apothecaries. There was, of course, a major chemical ferment during
the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, stimulated for example by the

68
69

L. Jardine, Francis Bacon. Discovery and the Art of Discourse (Cambridge, 1974).
See esp. E. Lesky, ‘Harvey und Aristoteles’, Sudhoffs Archiv, 41 (1957), 289-316, 349-
78; J. S. Wilkie, ‘Harvey’s Immediate Debt to Aristotle and Galen’, History of Science,
4 (1965), 103-24; C. Webster, ‘Harvey’s De generatione: its Origins and Relevance to
the Theory of Circulation’, British Journal of the History of Science, 3 (1967), 264-
74; W. Pagel, William Harvey’s Biological Ideas (Basle/(New York, 1967); W. Pagel,
‘William Harvey Revisited’, History of Science, 8 (1969), I-31;'9 (1970), I-41.

E. Gilson, Etudes sur le réle de la pensée mediévale dans la formation du systéme carté-
sien (Paris, 1951).

See Drake, Galileo Studies (note 47).

Roy Porter

iatrochemistry of Paracelsus.’”” Yet most historians would deny that
chemistry underwent a fundamental revolution in its foundations, such
as to put its future progress upon an assured footing. That is why so
many eighteenth-century chemists were still earnestly seeking their own
Newtonian revolution, and why the work of Lavoisier has been dubbed
‘the postponed scientific revolution in chemistry’.”* It is surely indicative
that though Newton himself spent a vast amount of time in his own
chemical laboratory, possibly attempting to achieve some sort of bridge
between alchemy and chemistry, he finally left all his studies utterly pri-
vate and unpublished.”* Economic pressures and opportunities, the
chemical dreams of reformers, and the practice of craftsmen and adepts
in society at large were not sufficient to carry through a real transform-
ation in chemistry.

The same mixed fate holds for other investigations pursued largely
outside the university. The field sciences and the arts of geography and
navigation, furthering the exploration of the terraqueous globe,
undoubtedly piled up masses of factual knowledge in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. But, judged by the standards of the more ‘exact’
sciences, they did not undergo a comparable, ‘Copernican’ or ‘Newtoni-
an’ revolution at that time. Hence, a discipline such as geology did not
emerge into recognizably modern form until towards the end of the
eighteenth century, when, indeed, the term itself was coined.” Similarly,
inquiries into such physical properties of bodies as heat, magnetism and
electricity were extensively cultivated at this time — sometimes, as with
magnetism, in context of quasi-occultist disciplinary frameworks. But
being pursued largely outside the university programme of natural phil-
osophy, perhaps as a consequence they lacked the coherence and rigour
necessary to achieve fundamental conceptual reorientation.”° It would
of course be ridiculous to imply that only the mystically superior brain-
power of a university elite can work scientific revolutions. I am suggest-
ing, however, that certain areas of science — those falling within the
seven liberal arts, and highly theoretized within metaphysics, classical
geometry and mathematics — were particularly amenable to thought rev-

” A. G. Debus, The Chemical Philosophy. Paracelsian Sciences and Medicine in the Six-
teenth and Seventeenth Centuries (New York, 1977).

See the discussion in I. B. Cohen, Revolution in Science (Cambridge, Mass., 1985),
229ff.

4 See B. J. T. Dobbs, Foundations of Newton’s Alchemy (Cambridge, 1975).

> R. Porter, The Making of Geology (Cambridge, 1977); M. Guntau, ‘The Emergence of
Geology as a Scientific Discipline’, History of Science, 16 (1978), 280-90.

See T. S. Kuhn, ‘Mathematical versus Experimental Traditions in the Development of
Physical Science’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, 7 (1976), 1-31; republished in
T. S. Kuhn, The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition and Change
(Chicago, Ill., 1977), 31-65.

N
an

552

The Scientific Revolution and universities

olutions; these were the ones most widely taught, studied and disputed
in the universities. Other branches of science — the more applied, descrip-
tive, empirical or field sciences, those cultivated mainly outside the uni-
versities — rarely as yet had sufficient conceptual clarity or a regular,
public focus of activity, to crystallize in the same manner.

SCIENCE MOVES OUT

Yet this judgement risks painting too static a picture. For the Scientific
Revolution, which began with university-trained men within the aca-
demic disciplines of the arts school, also, thanks to its own critique of
scholastic logic, broke the bounds of traditional science. When Galileo,
Bacon and (more ambiguously) Descartes flayed traditional scientific
authority they unleashed an appeal to new sites of scientific production
and validity — to innovation rather than tradition, to the truth of the
eye rather than that the text or tome, to the common sense of mankind
not the ipse dixits of the professors. Observation, experience, and not
least experiment became the new watchwords.”’ During the seventeenth
century a repertoire of exempla was built up, illustrating how obser-
vation and experiment had cut the doctrines of the schools to ribbons:
for example, Torricellian tube (or vacuum) demonstrations, which killed
off the Aristotelian dogma that nature abhors a vacuum, or other experi-
ments demonstrating the relations between heat, volume, pressure and
expansion.

Characteristically, much of this new eye-opening work of experi-
mentation was to be pioneered outside the university. Pascal ascended
mountains to conduct barometric experiments. The most celebrated
experiment to test atmospheric pressure — Von Guericke’s — was conduc-
ted by a burgomaster of Magdeburg, though one with a university edu-
cation. Under the auspices of the duke of Florence, the Accademia del
Cimento adopted as its rationale the staging of physical experiments.”
Performing and receiving reports on experiments became one of the
prime activities of the Royal Society of London. In many ways, it was
the university which publicized the mechanical philosophy as theory, but
when men of science became preoccupied — as they did by the mid-
seventeenth century — with mechanical apparatus (pumps, telescopes,
microscopes, springs, valves, levers and the like), the growing availability
of sites for scientific practice beyond the university suited their needs

” See B. J. Shapiro, Probability and Certainty in Seventeenth-Century England (Princeton,

N.J., 1983).
78 W. E. Knowles Middleton, The Experimenters. A Study of the Accademia del Cimento
(Baltimore, Md., 1971).

553

Roy Porter

better.”’ Scientific societies situated in commercial towns, often under
royal or aristocratic patronage, could count on funds for apparatus and
on the proximity of craft skills. Experiments appealed to amateur lay,
and fashionable audiences. As the mechanical philosophy prompted
experiments into the phenomena of heat, fire, light, sound, atmospheric
pressure, and so forth from the middle of the seventeenth century, it
encouraged a drift in the centre of gravity of the production of scientific
knowledge away from the university to the closed academy or open
society.*°

A similar shift perhaps also happened in another dimension of science.
Aided by the surge of interest in mathematics which humanism stimu-
lated, nature had increasingly been mathematicized, benefiting above all
from Descartes’s coordinate geometry and then from the development
of infinitesimals by Newton and Leibniz. Increasingly sophisticated
algebraic techniques came to be applied from the late seventeenth cen-
tury to the most complex problems of natural philosophy — the orbit of
the moon, the figure of the earth, hydrostatics, the nature of rigid bodies,
and so forth. By the eighteenth century, the cream of the new mathema-
ticians — Clairaut, Euler, the Bernoullis —- were using techniques which
had totally left behind the Euclidean geometry of the traditional liberal
arts course. Theirs was a mathematics entirely divorced from and unsuit-
able for university pedagogy. Their enormously recondite researches
found shelter and patronage not primarily in the university, but in prin-
cely, closed societies: Euler, for example, spent much of his working life
in the employ of the St Petersburg Academy.*’ Thus a divide began to
Open up. Progressive universities such as Edinburgh and Cambridge
commonly taught the new mathematics, including calculus, more geo-
metrico, by fluxions; this was thought to be best for pedagogical pur-
poses, but proved a dead-end so far as new investigations were con-
cerned.** By contrast, a very small number of highly prestigious, elitist
centres became the foci for researches in rational mechanics and
mathematics.

Thus, I’ve been suggesting that the universities and their intellectual
traditions provided at least a matrix for the Scientific Revolution. That
revolution, however, proved so successful, and so dynamic, that it

’”? §. Shapin, ‘Pump and Circumstance: Robert Boyle’s Literary Technology’, Social Studies
of Science, 14 (1984), 481-520; S. Shapin and S. Schaffer, Leviathan and the Air-Pump:
Hobb Boyle, and the Experimental Life (Princeton, N.J., 1985).

8° There is a fine discussion in T. Hankins, Science and the Enlightenment (Cambridge,
1985), ch. 2.

81 See C. Truesdell, Essays in the History of Mechanics (Berlin, 1968). Compare R. W.
Home, ‘Science as a Career in Eighteenth-Century Russia: the Case of Aepinus’, Slavonic
and Eastern European Review, 51 (1973), 75-94.

82 G. Davie, The Democratic Intellect (Edinburgh, 1961).

554

The Scientific Revolution and universities

quickly expanded well beyond the ambit of the university. This process
was, moreover, not unconnected with the fact that, quite independently,
and for many quite fundamental reasons, universities were generally
contracting in student intake and declining as foci of intellectual excel-
lence in many regions of Europe from the second half of the seventeenth
century. But what became really crucial for the intellectual geography
of science was the fact that centres for the pursuit of science — and above
all, wider opportunities for scientific careers outside the university —
expanded from the second half of the seventeenth century as never
before.

Some of these foci were private or informal. From the Montmor Acad-
emy in the 1640s to the Society of Arceuil in the age of Napoleon, small,
elite scientific coteries played a key part in the generation of French
scientific research.** In England from the 1760s, the Lunar Society
brought together men of science, manufacturers and interested amateurs
in the industrializing West Midlands.** Others were formally consti-
tuted, yet voluntary societies, like the Royal Society of London. And a
few went beyond that, serving as engines of state. The Académie des
sciences, the Berlin Academy, and the St Petersburg Academy each
offered to a hand-picked elite of pre-eminent practitioners a scientific
career in return for the prestige their activities would bring to their prin-
cely patrons and a certain degree of state service.® For the investigator,
the courtly academy could offer freedom from menial teaching duties,
exemption from religious tests or from the obligation of entering holy
orders, and an entrée into power, which the mere professor would lack.
For the advancement of science itself, the academy of scientific insti-
tution promised to become a dynamo of activity, a clearing-house of
information and not least, through its publications, a channel for the
international diffusion of scientific knowledge and the registration of
intellectual property. Universities could hardly hope to do so much. If,
for the science of the Renaissance, the university was the sanctuary of
the international Republic of Letters, national scientific societies
inherited and modified that role in the age of Enlightenment. For philo-
sophes such as d’Alembert or Hume, knowledge had to be brought out
of the schools and integrated in society; the new scientific societies

83 Brown, Scientific Organizations (note 62); Ornstein, Scientific Societies (note 62); M.
P. Crosland, The Society of Arceuil (London, 1967). See also Roche, Le Siécle des
Lumieéres.

84 R.E. Schofield, The Lunar Society of Birmingham, a Social History of Provincial Science
and Industry in Eighteenth-Century England (Oxford, 1963). See also R. Porter, ‘Sci-
ence, Provincial Culture and Public Opinion in Enlightenment England’, British Journal
for Eighteenth-Century Studies, 3 (1980), 28-39.

85 J. E. McClellan III, Science Reorganized: Scientific Societies in the Eighteenth Century
(New York, 1985).

53)

Roy Porter

played a crucial role in that process, which has aptly been dubbed by
McClellan the ‘socialization’ of scientific knowledge.*

To point out that the universities were scientifically eclipsed by the
new academies in the age of the Enlightenment is not, however, to say
that the universities slammed their doors on, or shut their minds to the
New Science. Obviously, many universities remained supine. The com-
bined effects of religious orthodoxy, censorship, and their prime role
as training grounds for clergy and lawyers, certainly left the Spanish
universities indifferent to science; in so far as science was pursued in
eighteenth-century Spain it was by individual clerics and in national aca-
demies set up for economic improvement.*”’ Likewise most German-
speaking universities remained too small, and still too embroiled in the
theological aftermath of the Reformation and Counter-Reformation, to
have much interest in science.** But this gloomy picture was by no means
uniform. In the major universities of the great European nations, the
standard undergraduate arts course, within which natural philosophy
had been taught, was steadily modified during the course of the seven-
teenth and eighteenth centuries, to accommodate new scientific findings.
Change doubtless came slowly and cautiously. This should not be sur-
prising. The old Aristotelian superstructure of natural philosophy was
an integral part of, and indeed propaedeutic to, a wider intellectual
scheme which embraced ethics, logic, metaphysics and theology. The
validity of the whole depended on the congruence of the parts. In any
case, Aristotelian natural philosophy amounted to far more than a col-
lection of purely technical postulata in mechanics, hydrostatics, optics
and the like; for upon the maintenance of traditional doctrines of form,
of substance, and of the perfection and immutability of the heavens were
believed to hinge such deeper truths as the rationality of nature and the
wisdom of the Deity in His creation.

8 McClellan, Science Reorganized (note 85), xxiii.

87 D. Goodman, ‘Science and the Clergy in the Spanish Enlightenment’, History of Science,
21 (1983), 111-40; G. Delpy, L’Espagne et l’esprit européen: l’ceuvre de Feij6o (1725-
60) (Paris, 1936); M. E. Burke, The Royal College of San Carlos: Surgery and Spanish
Medical Reform in the Late Eighteenth Century (Durham, 1977); Ajo Gonzalez, Univer-
sidades hispdnicas; Kagan, Students and Society.

J. M. Fletcher, ‘Change and Resistance to Change: a Consideration of the Development
of English and German Universities during the Sixteenth Century’, History of Universit-
ies, 1 (1981), 1-36; J. Engel, ‘Die deutsche Universitaten und die Geschichtswissen-
schaft’, Hundert Jahre Historische Zeitschrift, 1859-1959 (Munich, 1959), 248-9. For
the growth of German science see K. Hufbauer, ‘Social Support for Chemistry in Germ-
any during the Eighteenth Century: How and Why Did it Change?’, Historical Studies
in the Physical Sciences, 3 (1971), 205-31; R. S. Turner, ‘University Reformers and
Professorial Scholarship in Germany, 1760-1806’, in Stone (ed.), The University in
Society, vol. I, 495-532.

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The Scientific Revolution and universities

Hence the reception of the New Science into the teaching curriculum
proved characteristically piecemeal.*’ At Leiden, in the French colléges
de plein exercise, at the Geneva Academy, in the Italian faculties, new
teachings — for example, the Galilean laws of falling bodies — were
characteristically incorporated, after more or less resistance, within the
traditional framework of the finite universe and the four elements. Ptole-
maic cosmology was dismantled practically everywhere (Sir Henry Savile
insisted in 1619 that his astronomy professor at Oxford should teach
both the Ptolemaic and the Copernican systems); but it was commonly
replaced, most conspicuously in France, by the Tychonic. Discoveries
such as sunspots, the moons of Jupiter and the reality of superlunary
comets could often be accepted, even while the general doctrine of the
incorruptibility of the heavens was being maintained. This doubtless
demonstrates a certain defensive conservatism amongst the academics.
But the variety of responses to the New Science also suggests freedom
and independence of thought in professorial circles, and reminds us once
more that there was nothing foreordained about the eventual triumph
of the winning side in the Scientific Revolution.

Indeed, here and there we should be impressed by how rapidly and
comprehensively universities absorbed the New Science. Even before the
turn of the eighteenth century, the Dutch universities, especially Leiden
under the stimulus of ’s Gravesande and Musschenbroek, had intro-
duced a version of Newtonianism and the experimental philosophy
(Musschenbroek developed the ‘Leiden jar’).”? At Padua from 1709
onwards, Poleni was making use of experiments in his classes.”’ And,
perhaps most remarkably of all, Cambridge college tutors seem to have
abandoned the whole package of Aristotelian scholasticism from early
in the eighteenth century, developing an original synthesis of popularized
Newtonianism, a psychological, epistemological logic based on Locke’s
empiricism, and, above all, a standard diet of mathematics and Eucli-
dean geometry to replace traditional school metaphysics.

Precisely why this mix — the forerunner of the famed Mathematics
Tripos — emerged is hard to say (after all, Oxford did not follow suit).
And its short-term consequences for science were not exciting, given the

89 See more in detail chapter 14 (with literature).

7° P. Dibon, La Philosophie néerlandaise au siécle d’or, vol. 1: L’Enseignement philoso-
phique dans les universités a l’époque précartésienne 1575-1650 (Paris, 1954); E. G.
Ruestow, Physics at Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Leiden (The Hague, 1973);
C. L. Thijsen-Schoute, ‘Le cartésianisme aux Pays-Bas’, in E. J. Dijksterhuis, C. Serrurier
and P. Dibon, Descartes et le cartésianisme hollandais (Paris/Amsterdam, 1950), 183-
260.

71 B. Dooley, ‘Science Teaching as a Career at Padua in the Early Eighteenth Century: the
Case of Giovanni Poleni’, History of Universities, 4 (1984), 115-78.

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Roy Porter

torpor into which Cambridge University fell during the Georgian age.
But the emergence of a uniquely mathematics-based undergraduate
course was to prove, in the long run, immensely stimulating, both for
student education (not least, in paving the way for graded, classed writ-
ten examinations) and also for generating the great efflorescence of Brit-
ish mathematical physics from the end of the eighteenth century.”
Rather similar developments — the replacements of Aristotelian meta-
physics by Lockian inductive logic and Newtonian mechanical
philosophy characterized the eighteenth-century Scottish universities
too.”

It would thus be false to conclude that universities were hostile to the
New Science, though generally they failed to be its prime site until the
post-French Revolutionary reforms. But there was one department of
science whose teaching and advancement were, and remained, univer-
sity-centred through and through: medicine. Very occasional dissenting
voices may indeed be heard. Thomas Sydenham, for instance, is reported
to have offered his opinion that ‘physick is not to be learned by going
to universities’;”* but these were rare. Rather, with very few exceptions,
the education of the top strata of Europe’s physicians from the Middle
Ages onwards became and remained firmly entrenched within the uni-
versities, and most of the key advances in anatomy, physiology and
medical theory arose from the university milieu. Particular faculties
waxed and waned, but no rival institutions arose threatening to become
the headquarters of medical learning and authority; typically, across
Europe, medical corporations licensed practice, but did not offer medical
instruction or stimulate research.

The reasons for university dominance in medical learning are not hard
to seek. Would-be physicians craved the prestige accruing from a liberal
university education, rather than the merely instrumental, utilitarian
status which apprenticeship, for instance, would have conferred. Fur-
thermore, medical degrees served as passports through the gates of
licensing authorities. Moreover, in various states over the centuries, the
university proved one of the few sites where corpses could be legally
and safely dissected. Skills in the anatomy theatre — skills of demonstrat-

2 Gascoigne, ‘Universities and the Scientific Revolution’ (note 8); J. Gascoigne, ‘Math-
ematics and Meritocracy: the Emergence of the Cambridge Mathematical Tripos’, Social
Studies of Science, 14 (1984), 547-84; J. Gascoigne, ‘Politics, Patronage and Newton-
ianism: the Cambridge Example’, The Historical Journal, 27 (1984), 1-24.

*3 J. R. R. Christie, ‘The Rise and Fall of Scottish Science’, in Crosland (ed.), Emergence
(note 15), 111-26; J. B. Morrell, ‘The Audience for Science in Eighteenth-Century Edin-
burgh’, History of Science, 12 (1974), 95-114; P. B. Wood, ‘Thomas Reid, Natural
Philosopher: a Study of Science and Philosophy in the Scottish Enlightenment’, Ph.D.,
Leeds, 1984.

*4 Quoted in J. Ward, Diary of the Rev. John Ward, arranged by C. Severn (London,
1839), 242.

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The Scientific Revolution and universities

ing more than actually dissecting -— won huge audiences for Vesalius,
Falloppio and others, and through the sixteenth and much of the seven-
teenth centuries Italian medical faculties were magnets for students
coming from all corners of Europe because they combined fine instruc-
tional facilities (including pioneer natural history collections and botan-
ical gardens) with high reputations as centres of medical advance. The
great names of Renaissance medicine: Cesalpino, Falloppio, Realdo Col-
ombo, Fabricius, Sanctorius, Malpighi, and so forth, were almost all
Italian professors. Slightly later, Boerhaave’s school in Leiden assumed
pre-eminence, aided by his development of the teaching clinic attached
to the faculty; Halle under Stahl and Hoffman served the same function
for Germany, and by the mid-eighteenth century, Edinburgh University
under Cullen, the Monros and Gregory was teaching hordes of English-
speaking students, attracted in part by its fine clinical facilities. Only
in England, uniquely in Europe, did there emerge a divide between the
universities and the main medical teaching centre, i.e., London.”

During centuries when the university was often accused of being out
of touch with society, medicine was one field in which the university
clearly supplied society’s — and a profession’s — needs, and in ‘civic univ-
ersities’, such as the Italian and.the Scottish, city fathers were sometimes
generous in granting fat salaries and resources to the medical faculties,
recognizing that the interests of town and gown were as one.”° More-
over, it was only through the boost which medical needs offered that
service subjects such as botany, materia medica, and chemistry finally
made real headway in the university.

THE NEW SCIENCE AND THE UNIVERSITIES

Under the heading, “The Failure of the Seventeenth-Century University’,
Joseph Ben-David asked: ‘Why did the new science, which came into
being during the seventeenth century, remain outside the universities?’”’
This question seems ill posed on two counts. For one thing, it is an
exaggeration — despite the cases of Copernicus, Tycho and Descartes —
to suggest that the Scientific Revolution originated outside the universit-
ies. For another, the New Science did indeed become — admittedly, not
immediately, and certainly patchily — incorporated within the university
syllabus. If (as I have argued) the essence of the Scientific Revolution
lies in fundamental transformations made in conceptualizations of

°° See chapter 11, p. 454.

7° C.D. O” Malley (ed.), The History of Medical Education (Berkeley, Calif., 1970) and
notes 16 (Brockliss), 64 (Schmitt), 93 (Morrell).

97 J. Ben-David, The Scientist’s Role in Society: a Comparative Study (Englewood Cliffs,
N.J., 1971).

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nature, chiefly in the seventeenth century, it is difficult to see how such
transformations could have been wrought without the prior existence of
a coherent, abstract corpus of scientific theory — the staple of the univer-
sity arts course — and without the presence of bodies of scholars trained
in its methods, grappling with the problems it created. Thus, it was a
revolution from within existing academic science (though doubtless that
revolution was greatly stimulated by such ‘outside’ thought traditions
as occultism).”® In other words, the Scientific Revolution was not the
supplanting of a corpus of philosophical, rational teachings by alterna-
tive styles of thought fundamentally foreign to the scholastic tradition.
It was not the triumph of magic, of mysticism, of Hermetic texts;”’ nor,
equally, was it the enthronement of the practical arts, of the secrets of
husbandry, of folk medicine, or practical chemistry. Historians may
regret that Rosicrucian hopes to convert the academic world to pan-
sophy were dashed, and that reformers’ plans to turn universities into
‘open universities’ for inculcating practical skills and useful knowledge
did not come to fruition.’°° The fact remains that in so far as the natural
philosophy of the schools could be castigated in 1500 or 1600 for being
elitist and cerebral, the same accusation holds good for the new uni-
versity science of 1700, still largely transmitted in Latin, only now
supplemented by an additional obscure language, the language of math-
ematics. A dying research tradition had been supplanted by a vital and
successful new one, the mechanical and mathematical philosophy. But
the university proved immensely durable as a prime site where that new
philosophy could be pursued and spread.

Of course, the university did not secure a monopoly of the New Sci-
ence. Science’s very success and its own ideology meant that it flooded
out during the age of Enlightenment into many corners of a rapidly
changing society, amongst a public better educated, more leisured, less
haunted by religion, and more practically minded than theretofore.
Thenceforth, the university shared the advancement of science with
other plants for intellectual production, such as the courtly academy,
the voluntary society, and specialized research centres like observatories,
which during the eighteenth century probably met the needs of science
better than did the university. In the New Science, the universities sired
a prodigal son. It was a long while in coming home.

98 See P. M. Rattansi, ‘Some Evaluations of Reason in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century
Natural Philosophy’, in M. Teich and R. M. Young (eds.), Changing Perspectives in
the History of Science (London, 1973), 148-66.

°° R. S. Westman and J. E. McGuire, Hermeticism and the Scientific Revolution (Los An-
geles, Calif., 1977); M. Feingold, ‘The Occult Tradition in the English Universities of
the Renaissance: a Reassessment’, in B. Vickers (ed.), Occult and Scientific Mentalities
in the Renaissance (Cambridge, 1984), 73-94.

10° See the works by Yates and Webster cited in note 28.

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The Scientific Revolution and universities

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Allen, P. ‘Scientific Studies in the English Universities of the Seventeenth Cen-
tury’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 10 (1949), 219-53.

Ben-David, J. The Scientist’s Role in Society: a Comparative Study, Englewood
Cliffs, N. J., 1971.

Brockliss, L. W. B. ‘Medical Teaching at the University of Paris, 1600-1720’,
Annals of Science, 35 (1978), 221-51.

Brockliss, L. W. B. French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
Centuries. A Cultural History, Oxford, 1987.

Brown, H. Scientific Organizations in Seventeenth-Century France (1620-1680),
New York, 1934.

Crosland, M. P. The Society of Arceuil, London, 1967.

Crosland, M. P. (ed.) The Emergence of Science in Western Europe, London,
1975.

Eisenstein, E. L. The Printing Press as an Agent of Change, 2 vols., Cambridge,
1979.

Feingold, M. The Mathematicians’ Apprenticeship. Science, Universities and
Society in England, 1560-1640, Cambridge, 1984.

Frank, R. G. ‘Science, Medicine and the Universities of Early Modern England:
Background and Sources’, History of Science, 11 (1973), 194-216, 239-69.

Gascoigne, J. “The Universities and the Scientific Revolution: the Case of Newton
and Restoration Cambridge’, History of Science, 23 (1985), 391-434.

Geyer-Kordesch, J. ‘German Medical Education in the Eighteenth Century: the
Prussian Context and its Influence’, in W. F. Bynum and R. Porter (eds), Wil-
liam Hunter and the Eighteenth-Century Medical World, Cambridge, 1985,
177-206.

Hall, A. R. ‘The Scholar and the Craftsman in the Scientific Revolution’, in M.
Clagett (ed.), Critical Problems in the History of Science, Madison, Wis.,
1962, 2-32.

Hammerstein, N. ‘The Modern World, Sciences, Medicine and Universities’,
History of Universities, 8 (1989), 151-78.

Heyd, M. Between Orthodoxy and the Enlightenment. Jean-Robert Chouet and
the Introduction of Cartesian Science in the Academy of Geneva, The Hague,
1982.

Hill, C. Intellectual Origins of the English Revolution, London, 1972.

Holmes, F. L. ‘Eighteenth-Century Chemistry as an Investigative Enterprise’,
Berkeley Papers in History of Science, 12 (1989).

Jones, R. F. Ancients and Moderns: a Study of the Battle of the Books, St Louis,
Miss., 1936.

Kearney, H. F. Origins of the Scientific Revolution, London, 1964.

Lindroth, S. A History of Uppsala University 1477-1977, Uppsala, 1976, 92-
146.

Lopez Pifiero, J. M. Ciencia y técnica en la sociedad espanola de los siglos XVI
y XVII, Barcelona, 1979.

Maffioli, C. S. and Palm, L. C. (eds.) Italian Scientists in the Low Countries in
the XVIIth and XVIIIth Centuries, Amsterdam, 1989.

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McClellan III, J. E. Science Reorganized: Scientific Societies in the Eighteenth
Century, New York, 1985.

McClelland, C. E. State, Society and University in Germany 1700-1914, Cam-
bridge, 1980.

Ruestow, E. G. Physics at Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Leiden, The
Hague, 1973.

Schmitt, C. B. ‘Recent Trends in the Study of Medieval and Renaissance Science’,
in P. Corsi and P. Weindling (eds.), Information Sources in the History of
Science and Medicine, London, 1983, 221-42.

Shapiro, B. J. ‘The Universities and Science in Seventeenth- Century England’,
Journal of British Studies, 10 (1971), 47-82.

Taton, R. (ed.) Enseignement et diffusion des sciences en France au XVIIIe
siécle, Histoire de la Pensée, 9, Paris, 1964.

Turner, R. S. ‘University Reformers and Professorial Scholarship in Germany,
1760-1806’, in L. Stone (ed.), The University in Society, vol. 1, Princeton,
N.J., 1974, 495-532.

Tyacke, N. ‘Science and Religion at Oxford before the Civil War’, in D. Pen-
nington and K. Thomas (eds.), Puritans and Revolutionaries. Essays in Seven-
teenth-Century History Presented to Christopher Hill, Oxford, 1982, 73-93.

Westfall, R. S. ‘Isaac Newton in Cambridge: the Restoration University and
Scientific Creativity’, in P. Zagorin (ed.), Culture and Politics from Puritanism
to the Enlightenment, Berkeley, Calif., 1980.

Westman, R. S. ‘The Astronomer’s Role in the Sixteenth Century’, History of
Science, 18 (1980), 105-47.

§62

CHAPTER 14

CURRICULA

LAURENCE BROCKLISS

The study of the curriculum of the early modern university is still in its
infancy. Historians of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries who
wrote primarily institutional accounts of their alma mater seldom dis-
played much interest in the cultural role of the university. References
to the curriculum were infrequent and almost exclusively limited to a
discussion of the changes periodically wrought by the promulgation of
new university statutes. The information provided by university statutes,
however, is not usually a sound guide to what actually went on in the
faculty ‘schools’. In the first place, revisions of the statutes normally
occurred so infrequently that they often merely confirmed changes which
had long since taken place, or, when innovative, were obsolete many
years before they were altered again. The statutes of the Paris faculty of
arts, for instance, were revised on only two occasions between 1400 and
the French Revolution: in 1453 and 1598. In the second place, even if
a faculty’s statutes were regularly re-examined, this is no guarantee that
they will provide valuable details about the curriculum. Thus the statutes
of the Paris medical faculty were revised not only in 1453 and 1598 but
also in 1660, 1696 and 1751. Nevertheless, they reveal little more than
the subject areas that were to be the brief of the different professors,
and in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries do not even lay down
the standard authorities on which the course was to be based.

In fact, as present-day historians of the early modern university cur-
riculum have realized, the only sure way to recover the classroom reality
is to reconstruct the actual professorial cursus. This is a relatively simple
task, for the requisite source material survives in abundance in Europe’s
libraries and archives. Popular professors published an account of their
teaching in the form of easy-to-use manuals, while many students care-
fully recorded the thoughts of their teachers in notebooks and replicated

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their ideas in degree dissertations at the end of the course.’ On the other
hand, sifting representative samples of this material is a lengthy business,
and it is only in the past ten or fifteen years that university historians
have begun to publish the fruits of their research. Inevitably, at this
embryonic stage of reconstruction, interest has tended to concentrate on
particular faculties or even individual professors noted for their orig-
inality, while some countries have shown more enthusiasm for the ven-
ture than others. As a result, there have been few national syntheses and
there are glaring gaps in our knowledge. The teaching of theology in
particular has been all but neglected, an alarming omission when it is
recalled that until 1700 at least, this was the queen of the university
sciences.* Necessarily, therefore, the following account of the university
curriculum can make no claim to provide a definitive picture. Based on
the existing, limited literature, it can be only a tentative portrait, but
one, it is hoped, that captures the chief contours of the curricular physi-
ognomy, while inevitably distorting its subtler shades and hues.

A brief word about the organization of the chapter is required. For
convenience, it is assumed that every university consisted of four distinc-
tive faculties: arts, theology, law and medicine. In reality, this was only
true of the northern European universities modelled on Paris and
Oxford. In most Italian studia the arts and the medical faculties were
combined, while peculiar institutions such as the law University of
Orléans only had one.’ For convenience, too, it is assumed that every
arts faculty provided instruction in both the traditional discipline of phil-
osophy (which included the natural sciences) and a wide variety of novel
subjects: mathematics; classical, oriental and modern languages; history
and geography. But this again requires a qualification. To begin with,
few universities ever offered permanent training in every branch of the
linguistic and historical sciences; philosophy remained the only guaran-
teed dish on the menu. Secondly, even where instruction in these new
curricular disciplines was actually introduced, specialist chairs were not
uniquely established in the faculty of arts. Hebrew and ecclesiastical his-
tory in particular were often taught in the faculties of theology, whereas
increasingly as the period wore on the duty of teaching classical and
modern languages was principally assumed by independent colleges,
gymnasia and grammar schools. Indeed, in countries such as France,
philosophy, too, became a college-based subject and the faculty of arts
relinquished its teaching role altogether, serving henceforth as a board
for dispensing degrees.

' For these, see chapter 2.
* Cf. what was said in chapter 12.
> See volume 1, ch. 4, and chapter 4.

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Curricula

Both suppositions, however, are useful and not too misleading fic-
tions. Early modern educationalists distinguished between university
disciplines that provided knowledge per se and those that were propae-
deutic. Included in the first category were the three ‘sciences’ of theology,
law and medicine; in the second, the linguistic and historical ‘arts’. Phil-
osophy, on the other hand, sat uncomfortably between the two; it was
a ‘science’ certainly, but a propaedeutic one in that it provided the con-
ceptual tools deemed necessary to study in the three ‘higher’ faculties.
This hierarchical categorization was reflected in the student’s edu-
cational experience. Entrants to the graduate professions of the church,
law and medicine began their education with the propaedeutic arts,
moved on to philosophy, and completed their studies with the higher
science of their choice. This was the ‘university’ cursus, even if much
of their education took place outside the university’s walls. Hence the
assumption in the following pages of a four-faculty model and an arts
curriculum of encyclopaedic dimensions. It is only then that a student’s
educational progress can be successfully depicted within a university
context. The alternative would have been to concentrate on a student’s
professional studies alone, thereby neglecting the lengthy period of pre-
liminary training which was an integral part of his intellectual
development.

METHODS OF TEACHING

It is helpful to begin an examination of the cultural role of the early
modern university by a description of the manner in which information
was imparted. The predominant method of teaching encountered in each
of the faculties was highly formal and underwent little alteration during
the period. Each day, generally five days a week, the typical university
professor would mount the rostrum in his faculty ‘school’ and deliver a
lecture of between an hour and an hour and a half in length. The lecture
would usually be tripartite. First, the professor would read from a stan-
dard authority, a copy of which (in manuscript or printed form) the
students, seated on benches before him, would be expected to have on
their knee. Next, the professor would proceed to supply a detailed
exegesis of the passage selected, introducing his audience to the various
interpretative readings, destroying some, reconciling others, suggesting
his own emendations, then reaching a magisterial conclusion. This sec-
tion of the lecture was by the far the most important and took up the
lion’s share of the allotted time. It was then that the students took down,
often verbatim, the professor’s pearls of wisdom. Finally, the lecture was
ended by a question-and-answer session, where the professor quizzed
his class on its comprehension of his exegesis. There is plenty of

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evidence, however, that this concluding exercise was often neglected,
understandably if the the number of students present was large.

This highly impersonal method of teaching was inherited from the
late Middle Ages. Indeed, in that theologians above all still organized
their exegesis even in the eighteenth century around a series of guaes-
tiones the answers to which were in turn challenged and defended ad
infinitum, the method still deserves the description ‘scholastic’. Whatever
its shortcomings, and these were particularly seized upon by humanists
in the early sixteenth century, its strengths were even greater. Essentially,
the rigorous formalism ensured that all professors, whatever their
aptitude as communicators, provided their students with a clear and
comprehensive, if not necessarily concise, account of the problem under
discussion. It was a method, moreover, which proved supremely adapt-
able. In the course of the period, the medical curriculum, as we shall
see, was revitalized by the introduction of lectures on practical medicine
(see the section on the faculty of medicine, pp. 609-11). Practical anat-
omy, however, could be taught in exactly the same way as theoretical
physiology. Professors seldom performed the dissections themselves.
Instead the task was left to an assistant (usually a surgeon) whose job
was to reveal to the students the tissue-structure of each part of the
human body as it was analysed by the professor in the course of his
exegesis of an anatomical textbook.

Only the most brilliant professors provided an extempore exegesis.
Normally the professor lectured from a carefully prepared text, which
was usually read at dictation speed for the benefit of student scribes. If
professors extemporized at all, they did so only to draw out points
already made in the lectio. As a result, the students ended the course
possessed of two indispensable texts: the standard authority and the
magisterial commentary. Sometimes the two were combined, the first
section of the lecture being subsumed in the second. Where a standard
authority was too long or too complex (take the case of the Summa
theologica of Thomas Aquinas), then professors might extract from the
text the key problems to be discussed, and combine a paraphrase of the
author’s argument with their subsequent detailed analysis. On the other
hand, where knowledge was rapidly changing and where a traditional
authority had been discredited but no permanent replacement found,
professors might prepare an entirely personal cursus. In late seventeenth-
and eighteenth-century France, for instance, professors of philosophy
only continued to base their teaching of the natural sciences on Aristotle
to the extent that it was largely the latter’s physical corpus which pro-
vided the quaestiones and determined their order of discussion.*

* Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 7, sect. 1.

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Curricula

Many of these personal compendia and cursus were eventually printed
(often posthumously) and the most highly thought of often became rec-
ommended university textbooks themselves, the starting-point for future
professorial exegeses. Frequently, to indicate the fact that they contained
an ordered but relatively condensed abstract of available knowledge,
they were given the title of ‘Institutiones’, after the introductory Roman-
law manual prepared for the sixth-century emperor Justinian. It must
be said, that as the period progressed, there was a mounting university
premium on such distillations. In the late Middle Ages a student who
wanted to take a degree was usually expected to attend lectures in his
chosen faculty’s ‘school’ for a five- to seven-year term. In consequence,
the authorities on which the professors based their courses could afford
to be comprehensive and their content debated at length. This reflected
the fact that initially the professors in all disciplines, even medicine, had
conceived their primary educational task to be the preparation of the
next generation of scholars. Long before 1500, however, this conception
was obsolete, given the increasing number of graduates who were sucked
into the fledgling bureaucracies of church and state. In reality, all the
faculties, and not just the faculties of medicine, were increasingly turning
Out careerists. In the early modern period this trend was reinforced. In
most countries in the course of the sixteenth and early seventeenth cen-
turies, a degree became not just a useful but an essential requirement
for a wide variety of secular and ecclesiastical appointments and the
university was all but turned into a department of state. Students there-
fore were little interested in gaining a recondite knowledge of their
chosen specialism. Most wanted to proceed through the higher faculty
as quickly as possible. Understandably, their wishes were eventually pan-
dered to and the length of time graduands had to spend in the ‘schools’
was greatly reduced. The interval declined to three or four years or even
less, and the emphasis came to be placed on teaching the bare essentials
of the discipline. Inevitably, under such conditions, the textbook
replaced the comprehensive authority.

However, the students did not only experience this extremely stylized
method of teaching during their university cursus. In the first place,
many of the new subjects introduced into the curriculum of the faculty
of arts were taught in a far more informal manner. This was especially
true of elementary instruction in ancient and modern languages where,
as will become apparent, professors attempted to ensure a rapid assimi-
lation of the grammar and syntax by encouraging a large degree of stud-
ent participation in the lesson (see the section on the faculty of arts, pp.
571-2). In the second place, for many students the faculty lectures pro-
vided only a part of their educational experience. Those who boarded
in residential colleges and seminaries in particular were the beneficiaries

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throughout their university career of supplementary coaching from
incumbent tutors and pedagogues, which took the form of individual or
small-group tuition. At Oxford and Cambridge, where this tutorial
system has been continued to the present day, the organization of such
extra-curricular teaching was always relatively anarchic. From the mid-
sixteenth century each college fellow had the right to look after the
studies of a number of gentlemen-commoners with little or no outside
interference. Elsewhere, in contrast, colleges and seminaries gradually
adopted the Jesuit model of the pensionnat where control of the student
inmates was centralized in the hands of the principal and specialist peda-
gogues appointed to watch over pupils of the same age and ability. At
the University of Paris, for instance, college boursiers could seldom take
their own pensionnaires after 1670.”

By the end of the period, moreover, there were the first signs at two
German universities — G6ttingen and Halle — that small-group teaching
could also find a place in the'official university curriculum. At the new
University of Gottingen, beginning with J. M. Gesner (1691-1761), a
number of language professors in the second half of the eighteenth cen-
tury not only gave advanced instruction using the stylized lectio, but
also held regular seminars. Halle followed G6ttingen’s lead when F. A.
Wolf (1759-1824) established a philological seminar there in 1786.
Each method of teaching had its own peculiar pedagogical function. The
lecture was the vehicle for conveying as efficiently as possible to a rela-
tively ignorant student audience the most important and uncontroversial
elements of the subject under discussion. The seminar, conversely, was
the medium in which the professor displayed his own contribution to
the development of his discipline before a critical but suitably admiring
circle of acolytes.° The Gottingen innovation clearly pointed the way to
the new research-orientated universities of the nineteenth century. It had
not, however, evolved ex nihilo. In that many professors, in the medical
sciences especially, offered private instruction at a more advanced level
to enthusiastic students throughout the period, it simply institutionalized
an existing arrangement. At sixteenth-century Padua, for example, such
private tuition formed an important part of medical studies.’

° M. H. Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge in Transition 1558-1642. An Essay on Changing
Relations between the English Universities and English Society (Oxford, 1959), chs. 4
and 5; Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 2, sect. Iv.

’ J. J. Bylebyl, ‘The School of Padua: Humanistic Medicine in the Sixteenth Century’, in
C. Webster (ed.), Health, Medicine and Mortality: the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge,

1979), 339-50.

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The much more relaxed atmosphere of the language class, the college
tutorial and the faculty seminar was emphasized from their inception by
the much greater weight attached to teaching in the vernacular. The
language in which the traditional faculty lecture was conducted was pre-
dominantly Latin. In the sixteenth century a handful of enthusiasts under
the influence of Renaissance humanism occasionally based their exegesis
on the Greek text of the traditional authority when, as in the case of,
say, Aristotle or Galen’s works, this was the language in which they
were originally written. Thus the Tiibingen professor of philosophy,
James Schegk (1511-87), used to teach logic from the Greek text of
the Organon.® These professors, however, stuck doggedly to Latin in
delivering their textual analysis and the rapid appearance of new and
reliable translations of the Greek authorities made their laudable
recourse to the original text increasingly superfluous. The vernacular,
on the other hand, was only really deployed after 1700. If used as a
means of communication before that date, it was generally the preserve
of professors of medicine, who sometimes taught surgery and pharmacy
to an audience of apprentice surgeons and apothecaries who lacked a
classical training.

Even in the eighteenth century the vernacular never seriously chal-
lenged Latin’s supremacy. Law professors understandably taught the
new discipline of statute and customary law in their native tongue (see
the section on the faculty of law, pp. 600-1), but they seldom abandoned
Latin in other parts of the course. Medical professors, too, might increas-
ingly teach practical medicine in the vernacular but only infrequently
the theoretical core of the discipline. In Scotland, for instance, the first
professor to offer instruction in pathology and physiology in English
was William Cullen (1710-90) at Glasgow in 1748. The vernacular had
an even smaller impact on the teaching of philosophy and theology.
Occasionally professors of philosophy on the eve of the French Revol-
ution, such as Antoine Migeot (1730-94) at Reims, were offering ver-
nacular instruction in the natural and mathematical sciences, but the
rest of the course was usually impervious to change. In theology
especially Latin retained its unquestioned monopoly. The University of
Buda may have been ordered in 1779 to teach the subject in German
but this was an isolated case, doubtless inspired by the Habsburgs’ desire
to Germanize the Hungarian Church.’

8 N. W. Gilbert, Renaissance Concepts of Method (New York, 1960), 158.

? C. J. Lawrence, ‘Medicine as Culture: Edinburgh and the Scottish Enlightenment’,
Ph.D., London, 1984, 315; Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 5, sect. 1; S. D’Irsay,
Histoire des universités francaises et étrangéres des origines a nos jours, vol. 1 (Paris,

1935), 134.

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Laurence Brockliss

THE FACULTY OF ARTS

Languages

Throughout the early modern period the most important part of a stud-
ent’s linguistic instruction was the study of Latin. This was under-
standable since before the eighteenth century Latin was still the medium
of educated discourse. Few of Europe’s intelligentsia may have chosen
to converse in the language after the Renaissance, but it definitely
remained the lingua franca of publication. Newton published a math-
ematical Principia, not a mathematical Principles in 1687. Above all, as
was noted, Latin was the language in which the student of the university
sciences was taught and examined (see the section on the faculty of arts,
p. 519). Both a written and an oral facility in the language was thus
essential, all the more in that a graduand’s proficiency was chiefly tested
in a series of vivas.

However, in contrast to the position in the late Middle Ages, Latin
was not the only language that could be studied in the faculty of arts.
First of all, from the beginning of the period instruction was given in
Greek and Hebrew. Under the pressure from humanist scholars and pre-
Reformation reformers, such as the Spaniard Ximénez de Cisneros
(1437-1517), the teaching of both languages was rapidly insti-
tutionalized, first in Italy between 1450 and 1500 (where chairs were
mainly founded in Greek), and then in the rest of Europe in the first
decades of the sixteenth century. In a number of universities the develop-
ment was cemented by the foundation of specialist colleges, notably at
Louvain (the Collegium Trilingue), Oxford (Corpus Christi), Alcala (St
Jerome), Paris (the Collége de France) and Vienna (St Nicholas).'° In
the second place, a number of larger universities anxious to promote
high-quality biblical scholarship also gradually established instruction in
other oriental languages. At both Oxford and Cambridge in the early
eighteenth century, for instance, there were for a time at least two chairs
in Arabic."' Thirdly, at the end of the eighteenth century the first steps
were taken towards teaching the native vernacular. Many universities
in towns which maintained close commercial and cultural links with
neighbouring countries provided tuition in one or two foreign modern
languages for most of the era. Even in the late sixteenth century Bordeaux

10 P. S. Allen, ‘The Trilingual Colleges of the Early Sixteenth Century’, in P. S. Allen (ed.),
Erasmus, Lectures and Wayfaring Sketches (Oxford, 1934), 138-63. See further chapter
II, p. 461.

" L. Sutherland, ‘The Origin and Early History of the Lord Almoner’s Professorship in
Arabic at Oxford’, in L. Sutherland, Politics and Finance in the Eighteenth Century,
ed. A. Newman (Oxford, 1984), 519-30.

579°

Curricula

had a professor in Dutch, Leiden one in French.’” But the mother tongue
was largely neglected before the first half of the eighteenth century, when
enthusiastic professors, such as Adam Smith (1723-90) at Oxford and
Johann-Christoph Gottsched (1700-66) at Leipzig, began to offer pri-
vate instruction. Progress, however, was slow and few universities even
by the end of the period had followed the example of Paris and made
the study of the vernacular a fully-fledged curricular subject.’*

Language instruction in the early modern university further differed
from that of its late medieval predecessor in the way tuition was given.
Traditionally, professors had centred their teaching around the highly
complicated grammatical textbook of Alexander of Villedieu (c. 1170 -
c. 1250). Their aim had been less to introduce the tyro to the rules of
Latin grammar than to offer a philosophical analysis of its syntactical
mysteries. Theirs was a course in linguistics rather than grammar."
However, thanks to the scathing criticism levelled at the inefficacy of
this approach by the humanists, convinced that the purpose of learning
Latin was to become a proficient classical stylist not a logician, Alex-
ander of Villedieu scarcely survived beyond the second decade of the
sixteenth century. Thereafter both Latin and the other university lan-
guages were taught from carefully prepared grammatical manuals that
set down the rules simply and clearly. By 1510 Wittenberg had adopted
the Latin primer of the Italian humanist, Giovanni Antonio Sulpizio of
Veruli; ten years later Ingolstadt was using the work of the Bavarian
Aventinus (J. Turmaier 1477-1534).”°

Moreover, in the course of the first half of the sixteenth century lan-
guage instruction was reorientated in a completely novel direction. Stud-
ents were not merely introduced to the grammatical rules but gained a
real understanding of their usage through studying appropriate classical
texts, performing oral exercises, and producing prose-compositions. At
the same time, the course was no longer envisaged as a static entity
structured around the parts of speech but a dynamic unity that moved
smoothly from the simplest to the most difficult grammatical elements.
Unlike today, a student would first learn completely how to conjugate
and decline, and then proceed to study the syntax. As a result of this
development, the course was sectionalized into classes, each class with
its own professor, and pupils were allocated according to their level of

2 E. Gaullier, L’Histoire du Collége de Guyenne (Paris, 1874), 440; D’Irsay, Histoire des
universités (note 9), vol. 1, 14; W. Barner, Barockrhetoric. Untersuchungen zu ihren
geschichtlichen Grundlagen (Tiibingen, 1970), 415-17, 444-6.

3 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 3, sect. I.

Cf. J. Heath, ‘Logical Grammar, Grammatical Logic and Humanism in Three German
Universities’, Studies in the Renaissance, 18 (1977), 9-16.

15M. Grossmann, Humanism at Wittenberg 1485-1517 (Nieuwkoop, 1975), 53; Heath,
‘Logical Grammar’ (note 14), 37.

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Laurence Brockliss

competence. Furthermore, the course no longer finished when the gram-
matical principles had been inculcated. Accepting the humanists’ insist-
ence that the students should be stylists, the final class was devoted to
instruction in rhetoric.

This new form of language instruction seems to have first appeared at
Paris in the 1520s and early 1530s and was the brainchild of a small
group of peculiarly gifted teachers whose number included Mathurin
Cordier (c. 1480-1564), the German John Sturm (1507-89) and the Scot
George Buchanan (1506-82). Hence it was called the modus Parisi-
ensis.'® Admittedly, its creators did not conjure their pedagogical system
out of the air. Its elements were drawn from a wide variety of sources.
The idea that grammatical instruction should be an ongoing process had
been conceived in the fifteenth century by the Brethren of the Common
Life in their otherwise traditionalist schools in the Netherlands and
northern Germany.'’ The need to introduce the study of classical
literature and rhetoric into the course had been earnestly advocated by
contemporary educationalists such as Erasmus. At the same time, the
professors of grammar were already acquainted with the techniques of
classroom textual exegesis through the efforts of a plethora of wandering
humanist professors. Figures such as George of Peurbach (1423-61) at
Vienna and Cornelius Vitellius (c. 1450 — c. 1500) at Paris itself had
pioneered the way by offering private, impermanent courses on their
favourite Latin orators and poets.*®

The texts that were used in the early modern classroom in language
instruction are only now beginning to be properly investigated. From
the study of the favourite authors in teaching Latin and Greek, it is clear
that there was an initial period of anarchy followed by two centuries of
textual conformity. Of all the grammars on the market in the first half
of the sixteenth century, only the Latin and Greek primers of the Nether-
landers, Johannes Despauterius (c. 1480-1520) and Nicolaus Clenardus
(1495-1542), proved to have staying power. Although seldom given to
the students after 1600 in any but an amended form, their influence
pervaded the classroom until at least 1750.’’ Of all the pagan and Chris-

© The best study is G. Codina Mir, Aux sources de la pédagogie des Jésuites. Le “modus
Parisiensis’’, Bibliotheca Instituti Historici S.I., 28 (Rome, 1968).
” A. Hyma, The Christian Renaissance. A History of the Devotio Moderna (New York,
1924); A. Hyma, The Brethren of the Common Life (Grand Rapids, Mich., 1950).
A. Renaudot, Préréforme et humanisme a Paris pendant les guerres d’Italie, 1494-1517
(Grenoble, 1917), 121-5; P. L. Rose, The Italian Renaissance of Mathematics. Studies
on Humanists and Mathematicians from Petrarch to Galileo (Geneva, 1975), 91. Eras-
mus’s most important educational treatise was his Declaratio de pueris statim ac lib-
eraliter instituendis of 1529, edition and French translation by J. C. Margolin (Geneva,
1966).
’? For the many different editions of Despauterius and Cleynaerts used in France, see
Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 3, sect. . A useful intellectual biography of

~—
oo

572

Curricula

tian authors promoted by humanist educationalists and allowed in uni-
versity and college statutes only a handful were ever permanently used:
Cicero, Livy, Virgil, Horace and Ovid among Latin writers; Homer,
Demosthenes and Lucian among the Greeks. There is a slight sign that
more difficult stylists such as Tacitus gained a following in the seven-
teenth and eighteenth centuries but the point should not be laboured.
Certainly, it must not be imagined that because Tacitus was influential
in the development of contemporary vernacular literary style, he was
necessarily promoted as an exemplar in the classroom. What emerges
from recent research is the uniformity of the taste. Texts that were stud-
ied at Strasburg in the sixteenth century were conned at Basle a century
later and at Paris on the eve of the French Revolution. Only the editions
were different. Pupils seldom had direct access to classical texts: authors
were bowdlerized according to the confessional, political and moral
principles of the institution.”°

Very little is known about the amount of time spent in the classroom
on the different components of the modus Parisiensis. Presumably, the
emphasis was flexible and would depend on the purpose for which the
language was being learnt. One that was primarily spoken must have
been taught differently from one (such as Hebrew) that would be only
read. Probably only Latin was taught in the classic manner described
above. Certainly Latin was the one language that every student would
have seriously studied. From necessity students spent six to seven years
immersed in its mysteries for some four to five hours a day. Not surpris-
ingly, by the end of the rhetoric class, they were able to speak the lan-
guage fluently and compose a presentable ode or dissertation. The other
languages, however, engendered far less interest, although clerics
(especially Protestants) were supposed to be competent in Greek and
Hebrew. Greek definitely never inspired the affection the humanists had
hoped, chiefly because so much of the prized literary and philosophical
inheritance was available in translation. Indeed, even where Greek was
a compulsory part of the arts curriculum, it is evident that student com-
mitment was weak. According to Jean Grangier (?1574-1644), principal
at the Paris Collége de Beauvais in the early seventeenth century, pupils
would walk out of class when the Greek lesson began.”’

Cleynaerts is to be found in M. Breda-Simoes, ‘Un pédagogiste du XVle siécle. Nicolas
Clénard’, in Pédagogues et juristes: Congrés du Centre d’études supérieures de la
Renaissance de Tours: été 1960 (Paris, 1963), 157-72.

20 A. Schindling, Humanistische Hochschule und Freie Reichsstadt. Gymnasium und Aka-
demie in StraSburg 1538-1621 (Wiesbaden, 1977), 210-35, 265-70; W. Rother, ‘Zur
Geschichte der Basler Universitatsphilosophie im 17. Jahrhundert’, History of Universit-
ies, 2 (1982), 162-4. A good example of the bowdlerization of Horace’s Odes is given
in J. Maillard, L’Oratoire a Angers (Paris, 1975), 176.

1 J. Grangier, De l’estat du Collége de Dormans, dit Beauvais (s. |., 1628), 79.

573

Laurence Brockliss

The large majority of language professors were simple teachers who
made no positive contribution to linguistic studies. A handful, however,
were exceptional scholars who successfully combined their teaching
duties with an active research career. In particular, the universities
throughout the period sheltered virtually all the most innovative figures
in classical studies. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries this had not
been the case, for the restoration of the classical inheritance by the Ital-
ian humanists had primarly been carried on outside the university’s
walls. But as the Renaissance moved north of the Alps and the age of
discovery was replaced by the age of annotation, the groves of academe
proved a fruitful soil for the task of textual commentary. Most universit-
ies boasted at least one internationally renowned classical exegete during
the period, but several were cultural hothouses.

In the middle decades of the sixteenth century (1540-70) the most
important centre of classical scholarship was undoubtedly the University
of Paris. Three professors were of outstanding brilliance: Jean Dorat
(1508-88), Adrien Turnébe (1512-65) and Denis Lambin (1520-72).
The first two specialized in amending and interpreting the texts of the
Greek poets and dramatists. It is Dorat we must thank for reintroducing
into European culture the hymns of Callimachus. Lambin, on the other
hand, was a Latinist, immortalized by his solid commentaries on
Lucretius and Horace. All three displayed how far understanding of a
text could be advanced by first collating extant manuscripts and then
using the information in other contemporary texts to unravel the
difficulties.

By the turn of the seventeenth century, however, Paris had relin-
quished its position of pre-eminence to the new University of Leiden.
The Dutch university was the focal point of classical studies for a century
and a half. The founding father of its classical school was Joseph Justus
Scaliger (1540-1609), whose inspired reconstruction of the missing
book of Eusebius was the starting-point for the scholarly study of
ancient chronology. Scaliger’s successors in the seventeenth century
included Johannes Fredericus Gronovius (1611-71), famous for his pub-
lication of an authentic edition of Seneca’s Tragedies, and in the eight-
eenth century Tiberius Hemsterhuys (1685-1766). The latter was one
of a number of Dutch professors in the mid-eighteenth century who
followed in the steps of the Cambridge theologian, Richard Bentley
(1662-1742), in evolving a new route to providing better editions of the
classical poets. Unlike their predecessors, reconstruction was no longer
a detective game based on the careful collation of texts but the conse-
quence of an intuitive grasp of the poet’s diction and metrical usage.

Leiden’s classical star finally waned after 1760. The most significant
universities at the end of the period (understandably after what was said

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Curricula

earlier on p. 568) were Gottingen and Halle, where the professors C.
G. Heyne (1729-1812) and F. A. Wolf (1759-1824) agitated for a genu-
inely historical school of literary criticism. Under the influence of the
aesthete and art historian, Winckelmann, who held no university post,
the two professors insisted that a work of literature could be understood
only in terms of the civilization that produced it. A classics professor,
then, must be an archaeologist, a numismatist and an anthropologist,
not just a philologist, if he wished to be a successful exegete. Both men
were passionately interested in applying their methodology to the study
of Homer, if only Wolf was truly original in his conclusions. The latter’s
Prolegomena ad Homerum (1795) emphasized that the Iliad and the
Odyssey could not be analysed in the same way as the Aeneid. The
poems had been originally handed down by oral recitation, they were
not the work of one man, and their artistic unity had been superimposed
by later revisers.**

History and Geography

In the course of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries a number of
chairs of history were founded in Europe’s universities for the first time,
especially in Protestant countries. Among the first were the foundations at
Marburg and Vienna in 1529 and 1537, among the last those at Oxford
and Cambridge in 1622 and 1627.*° These foundations reflected a twin
inspiration. In the first place, their creation stemmed from the humanist
belief that the study of classical literature had a value that was not only
stylistic but moral. The ancient historians were a unique storehouse of
wisdom. However, as the latter, notably Tacitus, were not always judged
exemplary stylists, it seemed logical that they should be read separately
rather than as an integral part of linguistic instruction. In addition, the pol-
itical and religious struggles of the Reformation era placed a novel pre-
mium on the study of chronology or universal history. When arguments
over points of doctrine or the rights of kings often revolved principally
around the dating and significance of poorly recorded ecclesiastical or bar-
onial councils, it was essential that the socio-professional elite was intro-
duced to the appropriate establishment conclusion.

22 J. E. Sandys, A History of Classical Scholarship, vol. 1 (Cambridge, 1908), 185-91,
199-204, 319-21, 401-10, 447-53; vol. 11 (Cambridge, 1908), 38-44, 51-60; Wila-
mowitz-Mdllendorf, History (note 6), 49-53, 55, 72, 79-82, 85, 100-2, 108-10; R.
Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship from 1300 to 1850 (Oxford, 1976), 103-6,
III-12, I1§—18, 143-57, 163, I71, 173-7.

E. C. Scherers, Geschichte und Kirchengeschichte an den deutschen Universitdten
(Freiburg, 1927), 43; K. Sharpe, ‘The Foundation of the Chairs of History at Oxford
and Cambridge: an Episode in Jacobean Politics’, History of Universities, 2 (1982),
127-52.

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Professors of history in the first half of the period, therefore, were
expected to perform two different functions. Inevitably, they tended to
do one more than the other. Inevitably, too, most professors of history
contributed little to the development of the discipline: they were either
run-of-the-mill textual exegetes or uncritical chronologists expounding
a four-monarchy schema in the footsteps of the Protestant John Sleidan
(1506-50), author of De quattuor summis imperiis, a university text-
book which had gone through at least eighty editions by 1701.** A hand-
ful, however, used their position creatively. This was particularly true of
the late sixteenth-century Leiden and Louvain professor, Justus Lipsius
(1547-1606). In his hands the exegesis of Tacitus became a starting-
point for a study of the art of contemporary politics and a peg on which
to hang a defence of absolutism. Others followed his lead, notably
Matthias Bernegger (1582-1640) at Strasburg, who like Lipsius rejected
the idea of a Machiavellian Tacitus but used the Germania to support
his belief in limited monarchy.”

But this, it must be stressed, was a limited development. Most late
sixteenth- and seventeenth-century students gained a knowledge of the
contemporary European states-system, if at all, not from professors of
history but professors of rhetoric. The latter, in order to make the ora-
torical and poetical masterpieces studied as stylistic exemplars more
readily understandable, frequently gave background lectures on Pom-
ponius Mela’s geography of the ancient world. In so doing, however,
they usually extended their analysis to the culture and institutions of the
present and the New World as well as the old. Thus Antoine Hallé
(1592-1676) at Caen in the 1660s treated his students to a detailed
account of recent French expeditions to Canada.”°

It was only in the eighteenth century that a significant number of pro-
fessors of history were able to break free from their classical and chrono-
logical shackles, thanks to the redefinition of their function by influential
contemporary educationalists such as the Parisian, Charles Rollin
(1661-1741).”’ According to the new school of thought ancient his-
torians were no longer the sole repository of human prudence: this was
a role now attributed to the past per se. At the same time, universal

4 Scherers, Geschichte und Kirchengeschichte (note 23), 46-53.

25 G. Ostreich, ‘Justus Lipsius’, in T. H. Lunsingh Scheurleer and G. H. M. Posthumus
Meyjes (eds.), Leiden University in the Seventeenth Century. An Exchange of Learning
(Leiden, 1975), 177-201; Schindling, StrafSburg (note 20), 280-9.

6 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 3, sect. v. The Jesuits seem to have introduced
this custom into France: see F. De Dainville, ‘Les découvertes portugaises 4 travers des
cahiers parisiens de la fin du seiziéme siécle’, in F. De Dainville, L’Education des Jésuites
(X VIe-X VIIIe siécles), ed. M.-M. Compére (Paris, 1978), 455-62.

7? Author of De la maniére d’enseigner et d’étudier les belles lettres, 4 vols. (Paris, 1726-
8). His lengthy discussion of history as a classroom discipline is to be found in vols.
I and Iv.

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Curricula

history ceased to be identified with chronology and became the causal
analysis of the rise and decline of the great empires. As a result, it became
possible for the enthusiastic professor of history not only to give lectures
on the relatively recent past but also to introduce into the course the
sophisticated tradition of contemporary historiography that had flour-
ished outside the walls of the university from the time of the Florentine
Francesco Guicciardini (1483-1540). By the end of the period, more-
over, professors were not always allowed to teach what they pleased but
had to follow a comprehensive and coherent syllabus. After 1786 at the
Doctrinaire college attached to the University of Bourges, for instance,
students had to be taken in sequence through Old Testament, classical
and French history, while learning concurrently the physical geography
and topography of the Near East, the Mediterranean and Europe. So up
to date was the course that it ended with lectures on the American War
of Independence.”®

Initially, the eighteenth-century professors were understandably
reliant on textbooks written by outsiders. But over time they produced
their own. The ex—Jesuit professor at the University of Parma, Claude
Millot (1726-85), was particularly productive, publishing serviceable
histories of England and France, as well as a notable Histoire universelle.
Nevertheless, none of these works had the flair and staying power of the
contemporary historical classics of the philosophes, such as Le Siécle de
Louis XIV of Voltaire (1694-1778), which were all written outside the
university. Too often they were marred by a one-dimensional approach
to the complexities of historical change. Millot believed that the confus-
ing political and religious history of England could be traced simply to
the congenital fanaticism and volatility of the Anglo-Saxons!*’ The one
exception was the universal history of the Neapolitan, Giambattista Vico
(1668-1744), although, admittedly, he was only a professor of rhetoric
and probably never preached his philosophy of history in the classroom.
Vico’s Scienza nuova of 1727, while generally ignored at the time, is
now recognized as a historical classic. Keen like his contemporaries to
offer a material explanation of cultural change, Vico offered interesting
insights into the development of pagan (and by implication the
Christian) religion, all the while avoiding the trap of monocausality.*°

But if university history was revolutionized in the eighteenth century,
it remained noticeably unacademic. Professors such as Millot paid lip-
service to the need for a critical approach to their sources, yet their work

28 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 3, sect. v.

2? Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 3, sect. v.

30M. H. Fisch and T. G. Bergin (eds. and trs.), The Life of Giambattista Vico Written
by Himself (Cornell, 1944), esp. 136-40 and 198-9; for an introduction to Vico’s theory
of change see L. Pompa, Vico. A Study of the ‘New Science’ (Cambridge, 1975).

57/7

Laurence Brockliss

shows little sign of rigour or reflection. Ironically, the most critically
orientated courses were given by professors who remained wedded to
the traditional conception of their office. Peter Wesseling (1692-1764)
at Utrecht still equated universal history with chronology in the mid-
eighteenth century, but in treating the subject he demonstrated an admir-
able awareness of the unreliability of historical facts.*’ But even the
old-fashioned chronologists did not advance the corpus of historical
knowledge. In the eighteenth century genuine historical research seems
to have been the preserve of the German faculties of law, where docu-
mentary study was energetically pursued by professors of public law
often anxious to score constitutional points.°? Academic research only
began to be expected of professors of history towards the end of the
century once A. L. Schlézer (1737-1809) and his predecessors at the
new University of G6ttingen had developed the work of their colleagues
in law and started a school of historical studies that would culminate in
the achievements of Leopold von Ranke (1795-1886).°°

Philosophy

In the late Middle Ages a course of philosophy was divided into the
study of four separate sciences: logic, ethics, metaphysics and physics.
Within ethics was included politics and economics, within metaphysics
natural theology and psychology, while physics comprised the gamut of
the natural sciences. Each part of the course was built around works
drawn from the Aristotelian corpus, except the study of logic, which
was frequently prefaced by an analysis of the Summulae of Peter of Spain
(d. 1277), an introductory textbook that also included a number of treat-
ises on propositional logic.** The Aristotelian text, however, was only
the starting-point of the professorial exegesis. Primarily, it offered the
professor an inexhaustible series of guaestiones that could be indepen-
dently and haphazardly explored and debated ad infinitum. Over the
centuries the guaestio had proved a productive pedagogical tool,
allowing the professor to be original while working within a tradition.
At the beginning of the sixteenth century, however, the late medieval
philosophy curriculum came under attack. Renaissance humanists

31 J. Roelevink, ‘Lux Veritatis, Magistra Vitae. The Teaching of History at the University
of Utrecht in the Eighteenth and Early-Nineteenth Centuries’, History of Universities,
7 (1988), 149-74.

32 N. Hammerstein, Jus und Historie, Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des historischen Denkens
an deutschen Universitaten im spdten 17. und 18. Jahrhunderts (Gottingen, 1972), esp.
chs. 4-5, on the contribution of the two Halle professors of law, J. P. von Ludewig
(1668-1743) and N. H. Gundling (1661-1729).

°3 Hammerstein, Jus und Historie (note 32), ch. 7.

** Heath, ‘Logical Grammar’ (note 14), 41-55.

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deplored the dominance of Aristotle alone above other classical philos-
ophers (especially Plato), the excessive length of the course (commonly
five to seven years), and the amount of time given over to (in their eyes)
abstruse philosophical questions discussed in a barbarous Latin. Many
wanted the universities to abandon philosophy teaching altogether.
Others, more moderate, simply demanded that the course be revitalized
by the introduction of alternative Neoplatonic texts and thoroughly
restructured so that the students could be guaranteed to have covered
the chief philosophical issues in a reasonable space of time. In addition,
many Protestant educationalists objected to the quadripartite division.
Metaphysics, they believed, should be excluded from the curriculum on
the grounds that any attempt to construct a rational science of God was
beyond the capacity of fallen man and certain to end in blasphemy and
error.

Whatever the force of this criticism, the humanists and the reformers
were only partially successful in effecting change. Throughout the six-
teenth and the first half of the seventeenth centuries the course continued
to be quadripartite in structure and Aristotelian in tone. Admittedly,
most Protestant universities did ban the teaching of metaphysics but its
exclusion from the curriculum was only temporary. About 1600 the sub-
ject began to be taught once more, if initially often without official
encouragement.*” Admittedly, too, there were attempts to introduce
recently discovered Platonist texts, but again the endeavours of enthusi-
asts generally came to nought. The Jesuits in particular feared that a
close association with Plato would have a corrosive effect on young
minds, his philosophy being neither conclusively pagan nor orthodoxly
Catholic. As a result, chairs in Platonist philosophy were only ever estab-
lished at four universities, all in Italy in the late sixteenth and early
seventeenth centuries: Pisa, Ferrara, Rome and Pavia.*° If a student
wanted to immerse himself in an alternative tradition, then he had to do
so privately or in the seclusion of an Oxbridge tutorial. Indeed, the latter
kept university Platonism in England alive, permitting in the mid-

3° J. §. Freedman, ‘Philosophy Instruction within the Institutional Framework of Central
European Schools and Universities during the Reformation Era’, History of Universities,
5 (1985), 124-5; P. Dibon, La Philosophie néerlandaise au siécle d’or, vol. 1: L’Ensei-
gnement philosophique dans les universités a l’époque précartésienne 1575-1650 (Paris,
1954), I-70, passim; J. Prost, La Philosophie a l’académie protestante de Saumur 1606-
85 (Paris, 1907), 10, §1, 55.

°° C. B. Schmitt, ‘Platon et Aristote dans les universités et les colléges du XVIe siécle’, in
J. C. Margolin and M. de Gandillac (eds.), Platon et Aristote a la Renaissance. XVIe
Colloque international de Tours (Paris, 1976), 193-4; A. C. Crombie, ‘Mathematics and
Platonism in the Sixteenth-Century Italian Universities and Jesuit Educational Policy’, in
Y. Maeyana and W. G. Saltzer (eds.), Prismata. Naturwissenschaftsgeschichtliche Stu-
dien (Festschrift fir Willy Hartner) (Wiesbaden, 1977), 63-94

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seventeenth century a veritable school to grow up at Cambridge around
Ralph Cudworth (1617-88) and Henry More (1614-87).°”

What did change, apart from the replacement of Peter of Spain by the
much simpler Universals of Porphyry (c. 234 -— c. 305), was the method
of exegesis. Although Aristotle was retained, professors agreed that his
ceuvre could no longer be treated as if it were some vast diamond mine
full of individual uncut gems that the exegete might extract, polish and
display according to whim. Instead, the professor was expected to treat
the Aristotelian text as an integral whole, outlining its general argument,
proceeding through it in order, and expatiating at length only on the
significant points that the master raised. In addition, to encourage com-
pliance, the university reformers continued a fourteenth- and fifteenth-
century innovation of allocating a specific period of time in which the
exegesis of each text should be completed. In consequence, by 1600 a
course of philosophy seldom lasted longer than two to three years. In
other words, as a result of the humanists’ critique, a much greater uni-
formity was imposed on philosophy teaching. But there was a cost: the
new method of exegesis was more suited to the professorial plodder than
the virtuoso performer.

Within this novel structural straitjacket it is possible to identify two
distinctive Aristotelian schools. The first and most famous, associated
with Padua and the Italian universities, placed its emphasis on capturing
the essence of Aristotle’s teaching, revealing the mind of the master
hidden beneath the layers of interpretative grease that had accumulated
over the centuries. Its members searched for the true Aristotle, not the
truth per se; they were exegetes as much as philosophers.** The second
school, developed initially at the University of Paris but predominant
throughout northern Europe and particularly championed by the Jesuits,
was far more traditional. Its supporters did not eschew humanist exege-
tal techniques altogether, but they believed that their primary task was
to analyse the Aristotelian text in a spirit of criticism. What the master
might or might not have said was important but ultimately of limited
interest. Students were to be taught what Aristotle ought to have con-
cluded, and to this end the interpretative apparatus of the Arabs and the
Christian scholastics were aids not encumbrances.” In the short term the
Paduan school proved the more innovative and radical, for the exegetal

For this group and their work, see C. A. Patrides (ed.), The Cambridge Platonists
(Cambridge, 1980). The 1570s Cambridge statutes permitted Plato’s Republic to be
read in the official course of ethics: Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge (note 5), 87.

For a general introduction see A. Poppi, ‘Lineamenti di storia della scuola padovana
di filosofia’, in A. Poppi, Introduzione all’aristotelismo padovano (Padua, 1970), 17-46.
On Aristotle in the universities in general in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centur-
ies, see C. B. Schmitt, ‘Towards a Reassessment of Renaissance Aristotelianism’, History
of Science, 11 (1973), 159-93.

lo.)

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approach was used as a cover for promoting philosophical positions at
odds with Catholic orthodoxy, notably a materialist doctrine of the soul.
In the long term, however, the Paris school contributed more to the
future development of western philosophy.

In the first place, the Jesuits, committed as an order to a Thomist
defence of Tridentine Catholicism, were responsible for an important
series of critical and often creative commentaries on the Aristotelian
ceuvre, which played a seminal role in the genesis of seventeenth-century
Rationalism. Of special note were the late sixteenth- and early seven-
teenth-century publications associated with the Portuguese University of
Coimbra, for these were widely read in all parts of Europe and became
the common starting-points for both Catholic and Protestant exegeses of
the Aristotelian text. Particularly important was the 1597 Disputationes
metaphysicae of the Spaniard Francisco de Suarez (1548-1617), who
had taught at Rome and Alcala before moving to Portugal. Aristotle’s
own Metaphysics was largely ignored by the Paduan school but it was
of a particular interest to the Jesuits as a basis for a rational exploration
of the nature of God. Quickly published abroad, the Disputationes meta-
physicae was the inspiration for a host of other metaphysical textbooks,
notably in Lutheran Germany, and established the study of being per se
as a primary philosophical concern.*

In the second place, the University of Paris itself produced in Peter
Ramus (1515-72) one of the most influential and controversial critics of
Aristotelian philosophy of the pre-Baconian era. His importance lay in
his revolutionary approach to the study of logic, where he rejected the
late medieval (and Aristotelian) belief that the subject was a science con-
cerned with the rules of right reasoning and insisted instead that it was
merely the practical art of locating and marshalling evidence. In conse-
quence, Ramus paid no attention to the customary distinction between
rhetoric and logic and concentrated on developing a simple procedural
dialectic which could be used as a tool in either the investigation or the
transmission of knowledge.”

Ramus, it must be stressed, was not the first to break with traditional
logic, for his approach had been anticipated by the wandering humanist

40K. Werner, Die Scholastik des spdteren Mittelalters, vol. 1v.z: Der Ubergang der
Scholastik in ihr nachtridentisches Entwicklungstadium (Vienna, 1887), is still the stan-
dard authority for the work of the Paris school. For Suarez in Germany, see M. Wundt,
Die deutsche Schulmetaphysik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Tiibingen, 1939), esp. 41-7, 173-
225, passim, 263-73.

Among recent studies: Gilbert, Renaissance Concepts (note 8), xxiv and ch. 5; N. E.
Nelson, Peter Ramus and the Confusion of Logic, Rhetoric and Poetry (London, 1947);
W. J. Ong, Ramus, Method and the Decay of Dialogue (Cambridge, Mass., 1958), esp.
171-292; R. Hooykaas, Humanisme, science et réforme: Pierre de la Ramée (1515-72)
(Leiden, 1958).

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Rudolph Agricola (1444-85), whose De inventione was well known in
Paris in the 1530s. It was Ramus, however, who added the methodolog-
ical apparatus to the new logic and it was Ramism that took Protestant
Europe by storm in the second half of the sixteenth century. At some
time or other Ramus’s Dialectique was used as a textbook in virtually
every Protestant university, where the idea of teaching future lawyers
and clergymen to argue clearly and convincingly proved particularly
appealing. At Calvinist Herborn, for instance, the Ramist method was
so highly praised because of its pedagogical potential that the statutes
required professors in all faculties to use the dialectical method in their
lectures. But by the early seventeenth century Ramus’s star was on the
wane. His logic had never replaced Aristotle in Catholic universities (not
even in his alma mater) and in Protestant schools, too, there was eventu-
ally a return to the traditional way of teaching the science, or at least
the development of an eclectic Aristotelo-Ramist course, as in the United
Provinces.**

In the long term, too, the Paris model proved the more flexible and
durable. Confronted by the discoveries of contemporary experimental
philosophers, the Paduans could only offer a negative and hence quickly
inadequate response. Although pretending that their interest lay princi-
pally in uncovering the true Aristotle, professors such as Cesare Cremon-
ini (1550-1631) believed instinctively that Aristotle and the truth were
synonymous.* The Parisians and their allies, on the other hand, being
far less committed to Aristotle as the sole philosophical authority, could
be rather more accommodating to the new world of the Scientific Revol-
ution. By the third quarter of the seventeenth century, they had unani-
mously reorganized the traditional physics course in the light of the new
work done in astronomy, physiology, dynamics and pneumatics. Witness
the highly popular textbook of the Paris professor, Pierre Barbay
(d. c. 1675), first published in 1675. Barbay was unquestionably an Aris-
totelian, dedicated to a qualitative explanation of natural phenomena
based on a belief in the existence of independent substantial forms. But

* Ong, Ramus (note 41), 93-130, 297-306; G. Menk, Die Hohe Schule Herborn in ihrer
Friihzeit (1584-1660). Ein Beitrag zum Hochschulwesen des deutschen Kalvinismus im
Zeitalter der Gegenreformation (Wiesbaden, 1981), 203-17, 274-81; J. Moltmann,
‘Zur Bedeutung des Petrus Ramus fiir Philosophie und Theologie im Calvinismus’,
Zeitschrift fiir Kirchengeschichte, 67 (1957), 295-318. Recent research has suggested
that the Ramist influence was perhaps not so pervasive as originally thought; cf. J.
McConica, ‘Humanism and Aristotle in Tudor Oxford’, English Historical Review, 94
(1979), 298-314. Geneva itself never accepted Ramist ideas; see M. Heyd, Between
Orthodoxy and the Enlightenment. Jean-Robert Chouet and the Introduction of Car-
tesian Science in the Academy of Geneva (The Hague, 1982), 15.

M. A. Del Torre, Studi su Cesare Cremonini. Cosmologia e logica nel tardo aristote-
lismo-padovano (Padua, 1968); C. B. Schmitt, Cesare Cremonini, un aristotelico al
tempo di Galilei (Venice, 1980).

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equally he found no difficulty in jettisoning the Aristotelian universe in
favour of the system of the late sixteenth-century Danish astronomer
Tycho Brahe (1546-1601). His world might still have been geocentric
but now only the sun and the moon directly circled the earth; the other
planets revolved around the sun. He might still have espoused a distinc-
tion between the sub- and superlunary universe but he had taken on
board the discoveries of Galileo; the heavens were no _ longer
changeless.**

On account of its flexibility, Parisian Aristotelianism remained a cre-
ative and vibrant philosophical force throughout the seventeenth cen-
tury, while the Paduan model quickly withered and died. Nevertheless,
there were definite limits to its adaptability. The eclectics might easily
integrate contemporary scientific discoveries into their course, but as the
brief description of Barbay’s position reveals, they remained inextricably
wedded to Aristotelian fundamentals. Not surprisingly, therefore, the
development of an entirely new explanatory strategy for understanding
natural phenomena, the mechanical philosophy, was the work of indi-
viduals only loosely attached, if at all, to the university world. Among
the first generation of seventeenth-century philosophers to claim that
natural phenomena could be explained more successfully in terms of
matter and motion alone, only the Epicurean atomist, Pierre Gassendi
(1592-1655), professor of philosophy at Aix-en-Provence 1616-24, held
a university post.

The emergence of the mechanical philosophy in its various forms in
the mid-seventeenth century (ultimately stemming from an alternative
Democritian classical tradition) presented the Aristotelian professors
with a challenge they could not ignore. The sixteenth century had seen
the promotion of rival Platonic and Hermetic philosophies but these
had seldom successfully captured the hearts and minds of the arbiters of
cultural patronage. The mechanical philosophy, in contrast, not only
quickly attracted support from the majority of contemporary experimen-
tal philosophers (except, understandably, the Jesuit scientists) but also
won powerful advocates among the great and the good. Above all, it
captured the new scientific academies of the second half of the seven-
teenth century where the state and the experimental philosopher joined
hands in a sometimes fruitful but often uneasy marriage. In consequence,
the university Aristotelians had either to fight or succumb. Initially (and
a sign of the vitality of the Paris school), the professors took up the
Peripatetic cudgel; ultimately, however, the forces against them were too

“ L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Aristotle, Descartes and the New Science: Natural Philosophy at
the University of Paris 1600-1740’, Annals of Science, 38 (1981), 43-6. For other
examples of similar eclecticism in other French universities and Jesuit colleges, see
Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 7, sect. I.

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strong; with lay public opinion increasingly antagonistic to Aristotelian
formalism, they eventually, although often extremely slowly, accepted
defeat.

The history of the replacement of Aristotelianism by the mechanical
philosophy in the universities of Europe is only now beginning to be
written, but already the broad outlines are becoming clear. In Protestant
countries the transformation began about 1650 in the economically
more prosperous parts of the Continent, on a north-south axis between
the Wash and the Po, and moved steadily outwards. Thus, the mechan-
ical philosophy was being taught at Cambridge, Leiden, Herborn and
Geneva in the 1650s and 1660s but only won acceptance in the Calvinist
parts of Hungary at the end of the century.* In the Catholic world, on
the other hand, the transformation generally began considerably later.
Louvain was converted in the third quarter of the seventeenth century,
but Paris and Padua did not succumb until about 1700, while the univer-
sities of Spain only reluctantly relinquished the master after 1750 in the
reign of Charles III.*°

The reason for the more sterling defence of qualitative physics in Cath-
olic Europe is easy to understand: the greater power of the church. In
both Protestant and Catholic countries the immediate reaction of the
clerical establishment to the mechanical philosophy was invariably hos-
tile. Christian theologians of all denominations disliked a philosophy
that seemed to reduce God to a prime mover, destroyed the concept of
the ‘great chain of being’, and through the adoption of Copernicanism
no longer placed man at the centre of the universe. Only the Catholic
Church, however, had the organization and power, especially in the
form of the Society of Jesus, to propagandize effectively in favour of the
traditional philosophy.

In most parts of Europe Aristotelian qualitivism was replaced by the
Cartesian form of the mechanical philosophy. In this regard confessional
differences were unimportant. In the first flush of mechanist enthusiasm

* E. G. Ruestow, Physics at Seventeenth and Eighteenth-Century Leiden (The Hague,
1973), ch. 4; Heyd, Between Orthodoxy and the Enlightenment (note 42), ch. 4; J.
Gascoigne, ‘The Universities and the Scientific Revolution: the Case of Newton and
Restoration Cambridge’, History of Science, 23 (1985), esp. 405-13; J. Zimpléa, “The
Reception of Copernicanism in Hungary’, in J. Bukowski (ed.), The Reception of Coper-
nicus’ Heliocentric Theory (Torun, 1973), 330-9.

Brockliss, ‘Aristotle, Descartes’ (note 44), 52-60; G. Vanpaemel, Echo’s van een weten-
schappelijke revolutie. De mechanistische natuurwetenschap aan de Leuvense Artesfa-
culteit (1650-1797) (Brussels, 1986); M. Soppelsa, Genesi del methodo galileiano e
tramonto dell’ Aristotelismo nella scuola di Padova (Padua, 1974), ch. 4; B. Dooley,
‘Science Teaching as a Career at Padua in the Early Eighteenth Century: the Case of
Giovanni Poleni’, History of Universities, 4 (1984), 115-52; D. Goodman, ‘Science and
the Clergy in the Spanish Enlightenment’, History of Science, 21 (1983), 118-24.

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Catholics as well as Calvinists promoted an aprioristic mechanism based
on Descartes’s Principia philosophiae (1644), which stressed that a per-
fect knowledge of truth was possible, that mind and matter, though con-
nectible, were essentially different, and that the universe was a plenum.
In most regions, however, the Cartesian system taught in the universities
only derived its essentials from Descartes himself. Normally, the pro-
fessors taught a mechanism refracted through the critical prism of later
Cartesian or neo-Cartesian philosophers. In France the mediating influ-
ence was the Parisian-based Cartesian Nicolas Malebranche (1638-
1715), a member of the Oratorian teaching order but never himself a
university professor.*’ In Lutheran northern Europe, on the other hand,
the preponderant influence was the much more eclectic Christian Wolff
(1679-1754), professor at Halle and Marburg, whose philosophical
system, although drawing heavily on Descartes’s remained greatly
indebted to Aristotle, in imitation of his mentor the Hanoverian rational-
ist, Leibniz, the latter another philosopher who worked outside the uni-
versity’s walls.*®

In the British Isles, in contrast, the Cartesian form of the mechanical
philosophy only ever received modest support.*’ Instead, the universities
from the late seventeenth century were captured by the much more
empirically orientated vacuist mechanism of Gassendi. But here as well
the mechanical philosophy gained a distinctive national flavour through
distillation in a native alembic. On the one hand, Gassendi’s empirical
and probabilist bias was honed to perfection outside the university world
on the anvil of the 1690 Essay on Human Understanding of John Locke
(1632-1704). On the other hand, the Frenchman’s rejection of Descar-
tes’s plenum was given a solid mathematical underpinning through the
attractionist physics of Isaac Newton (1642-1727).°° The Cambridge
Lucasian professor of mathematics, it must be pointed out, was not the
isolated genius of Newtonian hagiography, but the peculiarly adept
practitioner of an empirical, phenomenological tradition embraced by
the majority of English experimental philosophers in the second half of

4” Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 4, sect. m1. For the life and work of this most
original of the French disciples of Descartes, see D. Radnor, Malebranche: a Study of
a Cartesian System (Assen, 1978).

* M. Wundt, Die deutsche Schulphilosophie im Zeitalter der Aufklarung (Tubingen,
1945), 122-230; T. Frangsmyr, Wolfianismens genombrott i Uppsala, Acta Universitatis
Upsaliensis, 26 (Uppsala, 1972) with an English summary: “The Emergence of Wolfian-
ism at Uppsala’. On Wolff himself, see W. Schneiders (ed.), Christian Wolff 1679-1754
(Hamburg, 1983), esp. the essays by Schneiders, Corr, Hammerstein and Rihling.

* The best general study is A. Pachi, Cartesio in Inghilterra da More a Boyle (Bari, 1973).

°° The most detailed study to date of the reception of Newtonianism in the British univer-
sities is C. M. King, ‘Philosophy and Science in the Arts Curriculum of the Scottish
Universities in the Seventeenth Century’, Ph.D., Edinburgh, 1975

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the seventeenth century.’ Like his colleagues, Newton was primarily
interested in gaining an accurate (in his understanding of the term,
mathematical) description of the universe, rather than in giving a mech-
anist explanation of natural phenomena derived from self-evident first
principles. As a result, when he published his Principia in 1687, his aim
was to demonstrate the existence of an attractive force that maintained
the solar system in being, not to explain its cause. Newton represented
an entirely different kind of mechanist physics from that promoted on
the Continent, which still dealt in causes, and understandably his work
was initially misunderstood. In the eyes of continental philosophers,
such as Leibniz, Newtonianism appeared as a throw-back to Aristotelian
qualitative physics.

For almost fifty years from the publication of the 1687 Principia the
universities of mainland Europe followed the lead of their philosophical
superiors outside the university world and viewed the Gassendist-
Newtonian form of the mechanical philosophy with undisguised con-
tempt. Newton was a great mathematician who had calculated the force
that retained the planets in their orbit around the sun, but as a philos-
opher he was a recidivist qualitativist. Only among the Dutch and Itali-
ans were professors to be found who had succumbed to the Newtonian
revolution by the time of its author’s death. The Leiden professor of
mathematics and astronomy, W. J. ’s Gravesande (1688-1742), pub-
lished an attractionist textbook as early as 1723 and the Neapolitan,
Nicolo di Martino, gave a course in Newtonian physics in the late
1720s. By 1740, however, a growing proportion of the continental
scientific establishment had come to recognize the evidential superiority
of Newtonian physics and the inefficacy of attempts to develop a math-
ematical defence of Descartes’s vortices (the key to the Frenchman’s
mechanist cosmology). In consequence, the academicians swung towards
attractionism and predictably pulled the professors in their wake. In the
course of the period 1740-60 aprioristic, dogmatic Cartesianism was
unceremoniously deposed after the briefest of reigns and empirical, pro-
babilist, ‘mechanical’ Newtonianism crowned in its stead.

The Newtonian Revolution occurred all over Europe in the mid-
eighteenth century. What made this possible in Catholic countries was
the swift elimination of the Jesuit Order in the 1760s and early 1770s.
The Society’s dismemberment and eventual demise may well have
deprived Catholic Europe of thousands of dedicated teachers, but it did,
as the enlightened despots who presided over the execution intended,

°! J. Henry, ‘Occult Qualities and Experimental Philosophy: Active Principles in Pre-
Newtonian Matter Theory’, History of Science, 24 (1986), 335-81.

‘2 Ruestow, Physics at Leiden (note 45), ch. 8; V. Ferrone, Scienza, natura, religione:
mondo newtoniano e cultura italiano nel primo settecento (Naples, 1982), 498-500.

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liberate the curriculum. Thereby in some countries universities were able
to move directly from the Aristotelian to the Newtonian era without a
Cartesian interlude at all. In consequence, as the early modern period
drew to a close, a new uniformity descended on the teaching of physics
unknown for over a century. The mechanical philosophy, in its peculiar
Newtonian phenomenological guise, had finally triumphed.*°

The establishment of Newtonianism in the universities was ultimately
far more dangerous to the traditional philosophy course than the intro-
duction of Cartesianism. To both Aristotelians and Cartesians all
branches of philosophy ultimately depended on a series of common
metaphysical principles and could be explored in a similar manner
through the use of verbal logic. In adopting the Newtonian form of the
mechanical philosophy the professors willy-nilly turned their backs on
this belief, accepting that physics was sui generis, an empirical science
based increasingly on mathematics. Physics, thus, had cut itself adrift,
and if physics had done so, why should the other philosophical sciences
remain wedded together? Might not logic, metaphysics, ethics and their
various subordinate sciences be developed more successfully as separate
subjects of study, investigated empirically a la Newton, undisturbed by
restrictive aprioristic assumptions or theological imperatives? As the
eighteenth century progressed, the leading figures of the Enlightenment,
Newtonians to a man, believed this was so, and the autonomous investi-
gation of the social sciences was born.

Admittedly, in university circles devotees of nineteenth-century posi-
tivism avant la lettre were seldom visible. In the schools the philosophes
were generally dismissed as crypto-atheists and the corrupters of public
morals. It was only in certain Protestant countries, notably Scotland,
that the Enlightenment took root in institutions of higher education to
any extent. Where it did, however, individual professors often made
important contributions to the movement. Take for instance the case of
the Scot, Adam Smith (1723-90), who held the chair of moral philos-
ophy at Glasgow in the 1750. Smith’s originality lay in the way in which
he used his secularist, utilitarian ethical philosophy as a point of depar-
ture for a serious study of economics.** In the eighteenth century the
latter was scarcely an academic discipline in or out of the universities. If
professors of philosophy dealt with the subject at all, they seldom did
more than deliver a homily on running a successful household. In the
faculty of arts only the professors who held chairs in the new science of

°3 For the triumph of Newtonianism in the French universities and colleges, see Brockliss,
French Higher Education, ch. 7, sect. Iv.

** His Theory of Moral Sentiments appeared in 1759 and had reached a sixth edition by
1790. For an introduction, see T. D. Campbell, Adam Smith’s Science of Morals
(London, 1971).

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cameralism or public administration were expected to discuss the
national economy. But even they did not develop a theoretical under-
standing of the subject, limiting their analysis to the specific question of
the role of the government in contemporary economic growth (see the
section on the faculty of law, pp. 603-4). The publication of the Wealth
of Nations in 1776, therefore, in its attempts to isolate the universal
mechanisms underlying economic change, indisputably created a novel
science.

On the other hand, if the majority of professors were suspicious of
the Enlightenment enterprise and believed it paved the way to moral
anarchy, the most intelligent among them recognized that the new secu-
larist and empirical approach to the ethical and political sciences had to
be taken seriously and countered by careful argument. This was particu-
larly true of one professor who lived and worked at the very frontiers
of western civilization, Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) of K6nigsberg.
Kant has been seen by historians of philosophy as both the culmination
of the Enlightenment and the precursor of Romanticism. In fact, he
defies such sweeping categorization. He was very much a product of
his university milieu, a mid-eighteenth-century professor of philosophy
convinced of the rectitude of the Newtonian approach to the natural
sciences but alienated by the consequent collapse of the unity of philos-
ophy and the penetration of empiricism into the study of moral and
aesthetic judgements, with the consequent drift towards relativism and
environmentalism. In the course of three philosophical masterpieces
published between 1781 and 1790 Kant attempted to reorientate eight-
eenth-century philosophy in a personally more satisfying direction, on
the one hand providing Newtonianism with the metaphysics it conspicu-
ously lacked, while insisting on the other that the empirical approach
was not the only way to investigate the world. Ethics, aesthetics and
biology could all be legitimately pursued by a different cognitive
method.”

The speed with which Kant’s philosophy was disseminated through
the Protestant universities of Germany suggests that his defence of New-
tonian science and absolute ethics fulfilled a long-felt want in a university
world precariously balanced between a theocentric past and an anthro-
pocentric present.°® Indeed, had not the French Revolution intervened,
Kantianism might well have become the dominant philosophical school
throughout the Continent. As it was, the coming of the Revolution

°> For an introduction to the Kantian system, see S. Korner, Kant (London, 1959). For
the development of Kant’s moral theory in particular, see E. Cassirer, Rousseau, Kant,
Goethe. Two Essays (Princeton, N.J., 1965), tr. J. Gutmann, P. O. Kristeller and J. H.
Randall.

°¢ Kant even spread into Catholic German universities. See T. Blanning, ‘The Enlighten-
ment in Catholic Germany’, in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds.), The Enlightenment in
National Context (Cambridge, 1981), 124.

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released in France and the territories she later conquered an empiricist
holocaust. Children of the Enlightenment, the revolutionaries destroyed
the old faculties of arts and E. B. de Condillac (1714-80) not Kant
became the philosophical hero.°’ The British, too, turned their back on
the Kantian compromise and declared in favour of the Newtonian
approach tout court, relying on Celtic cunning to deflect the awkward
questions that could be raised about the reliability of empirically derived
knowledge. At the end of the eighteenth century the Edinburgh pro-
fessor, Dugald Stewart (1753-1828), crowned an era of creative destruc-
tion north of the border by consolidating an already entrenched
‘common-sense’ defence of empiricism, based on accepting the meta-
physical problem, then pretending it did not exist.°** As a result, the
modern period began with the universities of Europe divided into two
distinctive philosophical camps: one in the east and one in the west.

Mathematics

At the turn of the sixteenth century students in philosophy who wanted
to take their MA degree were expected to have spent some time in the
faculty of arts also studying mathematics. Most universities demanded
as a minimum an elementary acquaintance with the Euclidian Elements
and Ptolemaic astronomy through attendance at lectures on the text-
books of the thirteenth-century mathematicians, John Campanus and
John Sacrobosco (John of Hollywood). In many cases, however, students
may have received a far deeper instruction in the classical and Arabic
mathematical inheritance, for it is evident from the plethora of surviving
manuscripts that university courses throughout the late Middle Ages
could be quite sophisticated. Optics might be taught from the textbook
of Witelo (1210-85); there might be lectures on musical theory; while
the astronomy course might include commentaries on a number of
additional computational and astrological texts, whereby students
would be taught not just astronomical theory but how to compose their
own tables and charts. Astrology at the beginning of the period was still
big business, of especial value for future medical physicians who would
employ the science in the art of healing.

Nevertheless, however sophisticated the mathematical training, it had
little connection with the staple diet of the arts curriculum: the philos-
ophy course. The Aristotelian physics taught in the universities of the

°? The écoles centrales, established in 1795 to replace the arts colleges of the ancien régime,
gave instruction in psychology, logic and ethics, which closely reflected the ideas of the
utilitarian Idéologues. See in particular $. Moravia, I tramonto dell’ Illuminismo. Filo-
sofia e politica nella societa francese (1771-1810) (Bari, 1968), 347-69.

8S. A. Grave, The Scottish Philosophy of Commonsense (Oxford, 1960), deals with Stew-
art and other members of the school.

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late Middle Ages seldom had any mathematical content. Only the calcu-
latores, members of a school that had flourished in particular at four-
teenth-century Oxford and Paris, through their ability to distinguish
between intensive and extensive motion, grasped the possibility of apply-
ing mathematics to the study of natural phenomena. As a result, math-
ematics was an isolated part of the arts curriculum and arguably a
subject that students could easily avoid. Its significance lay in the fact
that through the study of Sacrobosco students could be introduced to
an entirely different way of looking at natural phenomena. Whereas Ari-
stotelian physics laid emphasis on a teleological, causal approach to the
natural world, Sacrobosco saw the universe as an entity to be carefully
observed and then mathematically described.*?

Mathematics and physics continued to be considered separate univer-
sity subjects throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The
Aristotelian professors believed that as mathematics dealt with natural
phenomena abstracted from their physical context, the discipline could
have no role in the investigation of change in the real world. Moreover,
mathematics was felt to be a peculiar hybrid subject in that it was neither
an art nor a causal science. If studied at all as an element of the arts
curriculum, it should be logically left to the end, after the philosophy
course. Not surprisingly, therefore, the mathematical knowledge
required of a graduand in arts in this part of the period was no more
extensive than that demanded in the late Middle Ages, despite the great
contemporary strides in the subject: the achievements in algebraic analy-
sis, the invention of logarithms, coordinate geometry and calculus. Eliza-
bethan Cambridge was definitely peculiar in demanding that candidates
for the MA be examined not only in the Euclidian Elements and the
sphere but also perspective and cosmography.® Generally, the only
notable change to the official MA curriculum lay in the recommended
mathematical texts. Thus, the Euclidian Elements were often ordered to
be taught from modern translations of the purified Greek text or from
new compilations, such as the Arithmetic of Girolamo Cardano (1501-
76), while Sacrobosco was supplanted by modern alternatives, such as
the work of the Paris professor, Oronce Finé (1494-1555). Even these
developments, however, should not be exaggerated. Sacrobosco in par-
ticular remained a standard text throughout the sixteenth century, cham-
pioned by both Protestants and Catholics.

However, if physics remained a discipline largely dependent upon
verbal logic in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it was still poss-
ible in many universities, as in the late Middle Ages, to receive extra-

°? See volume 1, chapter ro. 2.
°° Curtis, Oxford and Cambridge (note 5), 87-92.

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curricular instruction in mathematics of a relatively advanced standard.
The Renaissance stimulated an interest in classical mathematicians just
as it did in classical poets, and by the late fifteenth century a number of
wandering humanists were revitalizing university mathematics by giving
technical courses in astronomy from the original Ptolemaic text. It was
for this reason that Copernicus in the 1490s could gain such a good
mathematical education at Cracow.®°’ In the sixteenth century this tra-
dition was cemented by the endowment, in Italy especially, of permanent
mathemati¢al chairs. Traditionally, most professors of mathematics were
elected annually from among the MAs resident in the university and
were not necessarily expert or enthusiastic practitioners of the discipline.
The new chairs, in contrast, often not in the faculty’s gift, attracted well-
qualified candidates and gave them the freedom to teach what they
wished. At the same time enthusiasts such as Francesco Maurilico
(1494-1575) tried to ensure the new professors a larger audience by
insisting that a knowledge of mathematics had a particular practical util-
ity. According to the apologists the subject’s study was de rigueur for
entrants to a large number of growing professions, surveying and sea-
manship for example, whose members would not normally have graced
the university’s benches.®* Indeed, it was the general acceptance of this
argument in the following century that changed the trickle of permanent
foundations into a flood. In the seventeenth century chairs of mathemat-
ics were established all over Europe, the Jesuits in particular being force-
ful supporters of their creation.®°

These independent professors of mathematics were not inconsiderable
participants in the genesis and promotion of the Scientific Revolution.
In the first place, a number of sixteenth-century Italian professors helped
pave the way for Galileo by lecturing on hitherto little-known but semi-
nal classical texts. Admittedly, the most significant mathematical human-
ists who published the first scholarly editions of the vital Archimedean
inheritance were not university teachers, but this should not detract from
the contribution of figures such as the Paduan professor, Pietro Catena
(1501-76), who introduced several generations of students to the Mech-

1 A central figure in this movement was Regiomontanus (1436-76), who taught at Vienna
and Padua; see Rose, The Italian Renaissance (note 18), 91-123.

* C. B. Schmitt, ‘Science in the Italian Universities in the Sixteenth and Early Seventeenth
Centuries’, in M. P. Crosland (ed.), The Emergence of Science in Western Europe
(London, 1975), 47-8; Crombie, ‘Mathematics and Platonism’ (note 36), 62-3; J. M.
Fletcher, ‘Change and Resistance to Change: a Consideration of the Development of
English and German Universities during the Sixteenth Century’, History of Universities,
I (1981), 22-30, passim.

63 F, De Dainville, ‘L’enseignement des mathématiques dans les colléges jésuites de France
du seiziéme au dix-huitiéme siécle’, in De Dainville, L’Education des Jésuites (note 26),
323-54; G. Consentino, ‘L’insegnamento delle matematiche nei collegi gesuistici nell’
Italia settentrionale’, Physis, 23 (1971), 206-16.

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anics of the Pseudo-Aristotle, an important work in the creation of Gali-
lean dynamics.% Secondly, the seventeenth-century professors of math-
ematics, all over Europe, aided the dissemination of the New Science by
integrating the latest work in statics, dynamics, optics and astronomy
into their course under the pretence of teaching ballistics, navigation,
and other applied mathematical subjects. In doing so, of course, they
were replicating the role of their colleagues in physics, but they played
the part more zealously. Free from the encumbrance of the Aristotelian
straitjacket (or indeed any need to explicate the work of the experimen-
tal philosophers), they could offer a detailed and positive description of
recent discoveries in a mathematical language. Only when discussing
cosmology did they have to tread warily and ensure that they stayed on
the right side of biblical literalism. At least this was true in Catholic
countries, for Protestants could be more independent. It was a professor
of mathematics and astronomy at Tiibingen, Michael Maéstlin (15 50-
1631), who was one of the first to embrace Copernicanism, and a
professor of mathematics at Copenhagen, Christian Longomontanus
(1562-1647), who devised the highly popular semi-Copernican compro-
mise whereby the earth had a diurnal rotation but continued to be at
the centre of the universe following the Tychonic system.”

The complete separation of mathematics and physics first began to be
challenged in the Cartesian era. Undoubtedly, the Cartesian professors
of the second half of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries
showed no more enthusiasm than their Aristotelian predecessors for a
truly mathematical physics. They did, however, believe, like Descartes
before them, that a knowledge of geometry was useful for training the
mind to construct clear and rigorous arguments. In consequence, they
began to preface their course of physics with a mathematical proemium.
Initially, this proem seldom occupied much of the professor’s time. The
Parisian professor, JérGme Besoigne (1686-1763), in the 1710s devoted
a half of his two-year philosophy course to the study of physics but less
than a month to an elucidation of the supposedly propaedeutic Euclidian
Elements. The second generation of Paris Cartesian professors, on the
other hand, was rather more daring. According to Dominique Rivard
the mathematical proem in the 1730s now took up three months of the
physics year and included, in addition to the geometrical elements, basic
algebra and trigonometry.”

** Rose, The Italian Renaissance (note 18), 223, 243, 285.

6° K. P. Moesgaard, ‘How Copernicanism Took Root in Denmark and Norway’, in
Bukowski (ed.), The Reception of Copernicus (note 45), 126-34; R. S. Westman, ‘The
Comet and the Cosmos: Kepler, Mastlin and the Copernican Hypothesis’, Colloquia
Copernicana, 1 (1973), 7-30.

6° Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 7, sect. VI.

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It was only in the Newtonian era, however, that this novel cohabi-
tation led to a genuine marriage. Newton’s Principia, it need hardly be
said, was a mathematical work par excellence. Neither Newton’s
destruction of Cartesian vortex theory, nor his proof of the inverse-
square law (as far as it determined interplanetary relations) could be
followed by the mathematically illiterate. At the very least a physics stud-
ent needed to be skilled in the geometry of conic sections and preferably
in calculus too. As a result, from the moment that Newton’s cosmology
came to be taken seriously in the continental universities, the physics
course had to be prefaced by detailed tuition in mathematics. Thus in
many universities, in the space of two or three decades a new generation
of physics professors appeared who taught a solidly mathematical phys-
ics, irrespective of whether they were supporters or opponents of the
Newtonian universe. But this revolution was bought at a price. Whereas
in France at the beginning of the eighteenth century a course in math-
ematics took up less than a month of the physics year, at the close of
the ancien régime it could occupy half a year.’ Under these circum-
stances the study of physics had to be skimped and many of the tra-
ditional elements of the course were abandoned. The course became
reduced to the study of the principles of dynamics and their application
in cosmology.

Yet this development was occurring at the very time the natural sci-
ences were expanding exponentially. It threatened to prevent the physics
professors including in the curriculum the latest work on the new sub-
jects of electricity and magnetism. At the end of the period, therefore,
there was a more pressing imperative than the epistemological one forc-
ing the university establishment to cut physics free from the other philo-
sophical sciences. The creation of a mathematical physics produced a
logistical problem that could only be solved by establishing two separate
philosophical cursus.

THE FACULTY OF THEOLOGY

The theology course taught in universities before the Reformation con-
sisted of two parts. In the first place, lectures were given on the Bible;
in the second on the four books of the Sentences of the twelfth-century
Paris theologian, Peter Lombard. The latter was intended to be a system-
atic and comprehensive theological textbook which solved in an ortho-
dox fashion, chiefly by reference to biblical and patristic loci, the many
and varied doctrinal controversies that had split the church from its
birth. As such, from the time of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215), it

6” Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 7, sect. VI.

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had been deemed an ideal manual for young theologians continually
required to defend the faith against infidels and heretics (not to mention
ignorant kings). Both parts of the course were taught in the approved
scholastic manner, the texts providing the starting-point for a series of
quaestiones which could take the student far from the original issue
under discussion and enabled the professor to deploy the full rigour of
Aristotelian logic in his examination of rival positions. As in the study
of philosophy, many of the more difficult and interesting questions were
taken out of their context altogether and became the mainstay of set
theological disputes. The demands of orthodoxy understandably cur-
tailed the possibilities of untrammelled free enquiry, but the existence
of numerous ‘grey’ areas wherein the church had not yet laid down the
law ensured that theological originality was not stymied entirely. Argu-
ably, it was for this reason that so much energy was expended in the late
Middle Ages on discussing the nature of justification and the eucharist.™

The Christian humanists of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth cen-
turies found the speculative theology course of the ‘schools’ completely
unedifying. The turn of the sixteenth century saw the dawn of a great
spiritual awakening among the lay and clerical elites of northern
Christendom, when individuals for the first time in any numbers
demanded a personally satisfying answer to the fundamental Gospel
question: Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? Humanists, such
as Erasmus, who were the spokesmen of this movement, believed that
the correct response to this question could only be discovered by a care-
ful and literal study of the Bible and the Fathers in revivified, scholarly
editions. As a result, they felt that the faculty course, far from helping
in this search for enlightenment as it ought, was a positive hindrance.
Lectures on the Sentences were clearly no practical help at all to the
Christian soul in torment and the Lombard should be relegated to the
historical scrapheap. But faculty lectures on the Bible were just as worth-
less. The lecturers, it was maintained, were uninterested in the accuracy
of the Vulgate text on which they based their exegeses and concentrated
their attentions not on the author’s meaning but on uncovering and
deciphering often highly dubious allegorical and anagogical references.
Indeed, so incensed were the humanists by what they deemed to be the
vacuity of faculty biblical studies that they pretended, quite erroneously,
that the Bible was neglected altogether. Their own biblical and patristic
exegeses, which aimed to give an accurate and literal reading of the text,
were offered to the ‘schools’ as exemplars.

As the universities themselves were not isolated from this great spiri-
tual awakening, the humanists quickly found disciples within the aca-

68 See volume I, chapter 13.

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demic establishment. In particular, at the newly founded University of
Wittenberg in the 1510s an Augustinian eremite called Martin Luther,
suffering from a peculiarly acute form of the contemporary spiritual
Angst, began to offer students his own hard-won solution to the problem
of human redemption in a series of lectures on the literal meaning of the
Pauline Epistles (1515-18). Admittedly Luther was not a fully-fledged
humanist. Before the arrival of Philip Melanchthon at Wittenberg in
1518, he knew little Greek and less Hebrew, while he always maintained
that a successful exegesis was divinely inspired, not inspired by scholar-
ship. On the other hand, had Luther been the archetypal retiring scholar,
there would probably have been no Lutheran Reformation. After all,
the German’s solution to the great contemporary question — justification
by faith alone — was scarcely novel; it had been anticipated in part by
the English humanist, John Colet, at Oxford in the late 1490s and was
also propounded by Erasmus himself in his 1516 edition of the New
Testament. The Wittenberg professor-cum-prophet, however, had the
temerity to deduce from his solution a series of ecclesiological con-
clusions that threatened to undermine the church as established. Unwill-
ing by nature to compromise and cornered by the Ingolstadt professor,
Johann Eck (1486-1543), into making a declaration of personal infalli-
bility in the Leipzig debate of 1519, the tormented academic put himself
at the head of a great religious crusade. The professor became the
reformer and Christendom was split asunder.”

The Protestants were naturally in total agreement with the humanists’
critique of contemporary theology teaching. In universities under their
control the existing curriculum was swiftly reformed and the professor
of theology became a biblical exegete expected to provide a literal
interpretation of the original Hebrew or Greek text. The Catholics, on
the other hand, believing unfairly but understandably in a post-
Tridentine world that Erasmus had laid the egg that Luther hatched,
were less enthusiastic. Although a new emphasis was placed on studying
the Bible literally and metaphorical analyses fell under a cloud, tra-
ditional ‘scholastic’ theology was never abandoned. Indeed, a study of
theological quaestiones remained the core of the curriculum. At the Uni-
versity of Paris before the end of the seventeenth century, for instance,
only one out of twelve theology chairs was devoted to the study of Scrip-
ture and its most long-serving incumbent, Martin Grandin (1604-91),
purportedly knew no Hebrew.”°

® For Luther as a biblical exegete, see Grossmann, Humanism at Wittenberg (note 15),
74-82.

7° Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 5, sect. 1; C. Gerin, Recherches historiques sur
l’Assemblée du clergé de France de 1682, 2nd edn (Paris, 1870), 518-19.

595

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Too great a distinction, all the same, should not be drawn between
Protestant and Catholic faculties. To begin with, the Protestants were
generally unable to limit a course in theology to biblical exegesis alone.
This was possible in a country such as England where the threat of a
Catholic reconquest had disappeared by the end of the sixteenth century.
But in regions where the two faiths were in perpetual and sometimes
violent competition, and where pastors had to be controversialists as
well as shepherds, there was a need for a proper training in religious
polemic. This biblical study tout court could never provide: the Bible
was scarcely a theological textbook. Rather, it could be only achieved
by providing separate instruction in the fundamental theological
dogmas, where the similarities and differences between the two con-
fessions could be succinctly depicted. Melanchthon at Wittenberg had
realized the need for such a course from the early days of the Refor-
mation and it was understandably in confessionally divided Germany
and France where the custom took root. Among Lutherans in the six-
teenth century the standard textbook was Melanchthon’s Loci com-
munes (1521); among followers of John Calvin the French Reformer’s
Institutes, first published in 1536. Melanchthon’s text in particular,
however, was found to be insufficient as a standard authority. By the
early seventeenth century, therefore, professors were preparing much
lengthier alternatives, one of which, the Loci communes theologici
(1622) of the Jena professor, Johann Gerhard (1582-1637), proved pec-
uliarly influential. Gerhard’s work was exhaustive and systematic, begin-
ning appropriately with a detailed study of the authority and sufficiency
of Scripture, the rock upon which Lutheran theology was supposedly
based.”’

In the second place, if the Catholic faculties continued to give con-
siderable and often excessive weight to textbook theology, the way the
subject was taught was considerably reformed. By the end of the six-
teenth century the discredited text of Peter Lombard had been univer-
sally jettisoned. Its usual replacement was the Summa theologica of
Thomas Aquinas, promoted by the Jesuits and Dominicans (who tended
between them to monopolize theology teaching) as the theologian. At
Salamanca, for instance, the change was legitimized by a change in the
statutes in 1561. Indeed, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the
only alternatives to Aquinas as a point of departure seem to have been
the theological works of the thirteenth-century Franciscan, Duns Scotus,
and those of the sixteenth-century Jesuit, Francisco de Suarez. Both

71 P. Althaus, Die Prinzipien der deutschen reformierten Dogmatic im Zeitalter der aristot-
elischen Scholastik (Leipzig, 1914; reprint, Darmstadt, 1967); P. D. Bourchenin, Etudes
sur les Académies protestantes en France aux XVIe et XVIle siécles (Paris, 1882),

245-7.

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authors were commented on in a number of Spanish universities where
there were separate Scotist and Suarist chairs.”

More importantly — and here the humanists’ critique was accommo-
dated — whatever the favoured text, it was treated as an integral whole.
Professors were forbidden to extract interesting questions for detailed
and provocative analysis but had to provide an informed and orthodox
exegesis of the more important problems which the work discussed.
Sometimes the professors dealt with the text in its entirety; more fre-
quently, the work was split into two and professors offered a course in
either dogmatic or moral theology. Furthermore, with the steady
reduction in the length of time a theology graduand was expected to
have studied the science (see section above, pp. 566-7, on the method
of teaching), it became customary to abridge the exhaustive Thomist
synthesis and lecture from manageable manuals. In eighteenth-century
France alone fourteen were published, chiefly for use in seminaries. The
most famous, continually reprinted throughout the century and cham-
pioned in particular by the Sulpicians, was the Institutiones compen-
diosae theologicae (1717) of the bishop of Poitiers, J. Claude de la Poype
de Vertrieu (d. 1732).”

Significantly, too, Protestant and Catholic professors displayed a simi-
lar attitude to the role of reason in constructing and defending their rival
theological positions. Luther saw theology as a science totally founded
on the Bible, which in turn was a work to be decoded rather than under-
stood. Using divine inspiration, the tools of human exegesis, and the
guiding hand of the Fathers, he aimed simply to extract the meaning of
a passage, not to judge its rationality. To go further would be presump-
tuous and a disaster on the part of fallen man. In consequence, he objected
strongly to the amount of time spent in the theological schools in using
reason to examine the plausibility and meaning of particular dogmas. If
the latter had biblical warranty, that was sufficient. The Reformer’s
opinions, however, cut no ice at all with Catholic theologians during the
period, and little with his immediate Protestant successors. Melanchthon
favoured the rational exploration of theological dogma, as did Calvin.
Rational justifications of a partisan position might carry less weight than
a biblical or patristic defence but they were legitimate weapons in the con-
troversialist’s armour. Moreover, they were often essential, when biblical
passages were contradictory and the Fathers at odds. It was for this reason

” At Salamanca in 1625 three professors lectured on Aquinas and two on Duns Scotus’s
commentary on the Sentences; a Suarist chair was added c. 1720; see G. M. Addy, The
Enlightenment in the University of Salamanca (Durham, 1966), 45; F. L. Cross (ed.),
The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (London/Oxford/New York/Toronto,
1971), 1299-300, sub Suarez.

”> The manuals published in France are discussed in A. Degert, Histoire des séminaires
francais jusqu’a la Révolution, vol. 1 (Paris, 1912), ch. 1.

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that Protestants, such as the late seventeenth-century Genevan Louis
Tronchin (1629-1705) found Cartesian metaphysics a particularly
useful polemical aid: it took from transubstantiation the rationalist prop
that Thomist Aristotelianism, with its absolute separation of substance
and accident provided.”*

Both Catholic and Protestant dogmatics, therefore, in the post-
Reformation era would have pleased the early sixteenth-century human-
ists as little as the theological rationalism of the late medieval professors.
Arguably, the humanists would have found the debates even more
sterile, for the professors were trapped within their narrow confessional
boundaries and had less freedom to display theological originality than
their much-maligned predecessors. Reason in the post-Reformation
world was primarily used as a negative tool to discomfit opponents,
seldom as an inquisitive probe. Above all, reason could never be
deployed to challenge the fundamentals of the Christian religion, whose
veracity was unquestionably accepted by all mainstream denominations.
No professor, therefore, could use reason to question the divinity of
Scripture cr the apodictic status of the Nicene Creed. Theologians such
as the Genevan Jean-Alphonse Turrettini (1671-1737) could quite legit-
imately produce a natural theology which carefully distinguished
between the rational and preter-rational components of Calvinist dog-
matics. No one, however, was permitted to ape the eighteenth-century
deists and atheists and assert that only the rationally verifiable tenets of
Christianity were unimpeachable. It is true that critics of Christianity
existed within the university world, if not in the faculties of theology,
but they normally kept their heads down. H. S. Reimarus (1694-1768),
professor of Hebrew and oriental languages at the Hamburg gym-
nasium, came to believe that the supernatural mission of Christ was a
posthumous fabrication and that Jesus himself was a purely secular
Jewish Messiah. But his ideas, epitomized by the Wolfenbiittelsche Frag-
mente, were not published until after his death by G. E. Lessing (1729-
81). Those who voiced their doubts openly, even if they were merely
reacting to confessional wrangling suffered inevitable persecution. Thus
the Pietists (Lutheran fundamentalists) who controlled the Halle faculty
in the early eighteenth century responded to Christian Wolff’s inju-
dicious rationalist justification of confessional eirenicism by having him

4 The fullest study of the phenomenon is J. Bohatec, Die Cartesianische Scholastik in der
reformierten Dogmatic des 17. Jahrhunderts, vol. 1: Entstehung, Eigenart, Geschichte
und philosophische Auspragung der Cartesianischen Scholastik (Leipzig, 1912); see also,
E. Bizer, ‘Reformed Orthodoxy and Cartesianism’, Journal for the History of Theology
and the Church, 2 (1965), 20-82. For Tronchin, see Heyd, Between Orthodoxy and
the Enlightenment (note 42), 73.

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expelled from his chair of philosophy. Theologians in the eighteenth
century, both Catholic and Protestant, were expected to demonstrate the
insufficiencies of a purely natural religion, not make reason a yardstick
of belief. As a result interesting developments in biblical studies and
theology generally (one thinks of the work of Spinoza (1632-77) or
Richard Simon (1638-1712)) tended to take place outside the faculty
walls. Only the foundation of Gottingen pointed the way forward to the
less confessionalist faculties of theology of the nineteenth century (at
least in Protestant countries), for the professors there, if necessarily
Lutheran, were specifically forbidden to be disputatious confessional
zealots. Usually, however, right until the end of the period, the theologi-
cal professor’s prime duty was to turn out confessional clones.”

THE FACULTY OF LAW

The law course of the late Middle Ages was devoted almost exclusively
to the study of Roman and canon law, irrespective of the fact that the
majority of Europeans lived under some kind of customary system. In
both cases the professors lectured primarily on two related but distinc-
tive collections. Roman law was chiefly taught from the Code and the
Digest. Both were drawn up on the orders of the sixth-century Eastern
emperor Justinian but the first was a compilation of imperial edicts
established as the future law of the empire, while the second was a com-
pendium of observations by Roman jurisconsultants intended as a legal
work of reference. Canon law, on the other hand, was taught predomi-
nantly from the Decretum of the twelfth-century monk, Gratian, and
the Decretals of Pope Gregory IX (thirteenth century). The former was
a collection of canons promulgated by general, national and provincial
councils from the time of the early church and arranged by the author
in a putative order of authority; the latter a series of papal decrees judged
the authentic law of the church. The standard authorities were simple
compilations and had little or no logical unity. Nevertheless, the works
were read in the order of their composition; professors were allotted
specific chunks of the text and explored each law in turn. Usually one
faculty gave instruction in both legal systems and graduated students in
utriusque juribus. In some universities, however, notably Spain, there
was a separate faculty for each discipline.”

”> The standard work on the eighteenth-century use of reason to criticize confessional
dogmatism is K. Aner, Die Theologie der Lessingzeit (Halle, 1929). For Turrettini, see
G. Kaiser, Francois Turrettini: sa vie et ses ceuvres et le consensus (Lausanne, 1900).

76 See volume 1, chapter 12.

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In the course of the early modern period the traditional law curricu-
lum underwent a number of significant changes” In the first place, for
much of the era, the course was often reduced to the study of a single
system. This was not unknown in the late Middle Ages for Paris from
1215 offered only a canon-law course after the teaching of civil law had
been banned by Pope Honorius III. In the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, however, the practice became a commonplace. Protestant fac-
ulties, understandably, abandoned the teaching of canon law (at least
in the form of the Decretum and the Decretals), while conversely in
many newly founded Catholic universities, often dominated by the Jesu-
its, civilian professors were never appointed.

Secondly, from the end of the sixteenth century, there was a gradual
abandonment of the traditional method of teaching the standard texts.
Professors no longer always faithfully followed the order of compilation
in their exegeses but started to present the material in a logical sequence
under specific subject headings. Sometimes the innovation went no
further than building the analysis around an individual title rather than
around the laws it contained. Professors, therefore, read from title to
title, instead of from law to law. Often, however, particular titles were
isolated from the text and joined together to form a separate course. At
Padua, for instance, between 1540 and 1768, there was a specific course
in criminal law based on textual extracts from the Digest and the Code.”
Frequently, too, students were no longer expected to listen to lectures
on the standard authorities unprepared. Thus, the study of the Code
and the Digest was normally prefaced by an introductory course on Jus-
tinian’s Institutes (a beginner’s manual) and on the title of the Digest
‘De regula iuris’ (D.50.17), commonly in the edition of the Marburg
and Leiden professor, Everard Bronchorst (1554-1627). Then, in turn,
the exegesis on the Digest might be preceded (or even replaced) by the
study of an elementary compendium, such as that by the Halle professor,
J. G. Heineccius (1681-1741), used at the end of the period throughout
Germany and the Austrian Empire.”

Thirdly and most importantly, beginning tentatively in the seventeenth
century but only taking root after 1700, chairs began to be founded in
the novel disciplinary areas of statute and customary law, public law,

”7 The most comprehensive study of the early modern law curriculum to date is H. Coing,
‘Die juristische Fakultaét und ihr Lehrprogramm’, in Coing, Handbuch I, 3-102 and
Handbuch II, part 1, 39-128.

H. Coing, ‘Das juristische Vorlesungsprogramm der Universitat Padua im XVII. und
XVIII. Jahrhundert’, Studi in onore di Edoardo Volterra, vol. tv (Milano, 1971), 181,
187-8, 194.

R. Feenstra and C. J. D. Waal, Seventeenth-Century Law Professors and their Influence
on the Development of Civil Law: Bronchorst, Vinnius, Voet (Amsterdam, 1975), 18-
23, 55, 70-1, 88, 106.

fo 2}

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and natural law and the law of nations. The first two dealt with contem-
porary living law where it deviated from Roman law or standard canon
law practice. Statute and common law primarily concerned property
relations as laid down in local customs and national edicts and ordon-
nances, although its scope was obviously greatly reduced in the Roman
law areas of southern Europe and the Holy Roman Empire. The subject
of public law was the constitution of the state and the rights of the
sovereign authority vis-a-vis the people and external powers. Natural
law and the law of nations, on the other hand, dealt with the conduct
that should pertain between individuals (and by extension countries)
when their relations were not governed by positive law or revelation,
and when the only guide was reason. It was true in all times and all
places.

The epicentre of these revolutionary curricular innovations was
located in the Protestant universities of northern Germany and the
United Provinces. The introduction of a course in national law grew out
of the creation in the seventeenth century of a comparative approach to
civilian studies. In addition to attempting to explicate the text, a number
of professors in this part of the period began to compare the particular
Roman law under scrutiny with contemporary legal reality. Probably
introduced for the first time at the turn of the seventeenth century by
the Strasburg professor, Georg Obrecht (1547-1612), the new form of
exegesis was fully developed at Leiden, notably by Arnold Vinnius
(1588-1657) and John Voet (1647-1713). Vinnius’s commentary on the
Institutes of 1642 and Voet’s commentary on the Digest which appeared
between 1698 and 1704 were classics of the comparative genre and were
used all over eighteenth-century Europe as exegetal models. Known as
the usus modernus, this comparative approach to Roman law eventually
became the standard method of teaching the discipline in faculties north
of the Alps, and, once established, was espoused until the end of the
period as a way of making Roman law studies more relevant to legal
practice. Long before the end of the seventeenth century, however, its
utility as the sole means of introducing students to their native legal
tradition began to be questioned on the grounds that the customs and
ordonnances were sui generis and could not be correctly interpreted
through civilian principles. German jurisconsultants, especially, began
to agitate for separate instruction, a demand generally met in the first
decades of the eighteenth century, as at Leipzig in 1702."

8° Schindling, StraBburg (note 20), 304-20; Feenstra and Waal, Seventeenth-Century Law
(note 79), 24-41, 57-106, passim; Coing, ‘Die juristische Fakultat’ (note 77), 44-6; K.
Luig, ‘The Institutes of National Law in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries’,
Juridical Review (1972), 193-226, passim.

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The institution of courses in public law was similarly initially connec-
ted with developments in civilian exegesis. Again the emergence of the
subject can be traced to the first half of the seventeenth century when
a number of Protestant professors, including Obrecht, offered specialist
comparative courses in Roman and German constitutional law, based
on the relevant books of the Code. Nevertheless, a further and more
important impetus seems to have come from an upsurge of interest
among German professors of philosophy after 1650 in political theory.
This was supposedly a subject taught in the ethics part of the philosophy
course but in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries it was largely
neglected all over Europe. If taught at all, it was the domain of pro-
fessors of history, or Catholic theologians in the course of their exegesis
of Peter Lombard or Aquinas. From the mid-seventeenth century, how-
ever, professors such as Herman Conring (1606-81) at Helmstedt and
Samuel Pufendorf (1632-94) at Heidelberg reintroduced politics into the
philosophy curriculum. Conring and his imitators approached the sub-
ject traditionally by building their course around the Politics of Aristotle.
Pufendorf, on the other hand, refused to accept the existence of any
extant authoritative statement on the subject and developed his own
‘Cartesian’ system of politics derived from an aprioristic examination
of human relations in a pre-political state of nature. But whatever the
professors’ point of departure their aim was ultimately the same: to
examine German constitutional realities in the light of an ideal political
theory. Thereby they laid the foundations for an entirely different type
of public-law course: one completely independent of Roman law.*' The
introduction of such a course into the faculties of law, however, was
only succesfully implemented at the turn of the eighteenth century in the
innovations of Christian Thomasius (1655-1728) at Halle. The latter
insisted that public law should be divorced not only from the Code but
political theory too. In his eyes, it was an autonomous subject to be
pursued by historical rather than rationalist principles.

The establishment of courses in natural law and the law of nations, in
contrast, had no direct connection with developments in civilian studies.
Arguably, as we shall see, it stemmed from a novel need to underpin
the teaching of positive law with an analysis of the universal principles
of justice supposedly informing in some way all legal systems. As a result
there was no transitional stage during which the study of natural law

81 M. Stolleis (ed.), Herman Conring (1606-81). Beitrdige zu Leben und Werk (Berlin,
1983), part 1v; H. Denzer, Moralphilosophie und Naturrecht bei Samuel Pufendorrf,
Eine geistes- und wissenschaftsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zur Geburt des Naturrechts
aus der Practischen Philosophie (Munich, 1972).

82 Hammerstein, Jus und Historie (note 32), 91-117; Coing, ‘Die juristische Fakultat’
(note 77), 42-3.

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emerged from specialist courses devoted to the opening title of the Digest
which discusses the concept. Rather, the subject was born fully clothed,
so to speak, with the foundation in the mid-seventeenth century of a
number of courses in the northern Protestant universities, beginning at
Leiden in 1658. In enthusiastic and knowledgeable hands, its content
quickly moved far beyond the discussion of abstract principles. The best
professors enlarged the course to debate contemporary international and
maritime law, subjects hitherto completely excluded from the curriculum
in any form. Not all chairs of natural law, however, were founded in the
legal faculties. Sometimes, as at Heidelberg in 1661, they were created in
the faculties of arts. This made sense in the age of Pufendorf for a study
of man in a state of nature was clearly of interest to students of philos-
ophy as well as law. All the same, the practice tended to devalue the
study of natural law as the keystone of legal studies. So, too, did the
decision of many Catholic faculties, as at Padua in 1764, to entrust the
teaching of natural and public law to the same professor. This similarly
made sense in the light of seventeenth-century developments and where
professors were unimpressed by Thomasius’s historicist approach, but
it suggested once more that natural law had no fundamental connection
with the rest of the curriculum.*°

Natural law was not the only new subject to be shared between the
two faculties. In the course of the second half of the seventeenth and
early eighteenth centuries German professors of philosophy who took a
serious interest in political theory, be they ‘Aristotelians’, ‘Cartesians’
or eclectics like Christian Wolff, had promoted a conception of govern-
ment as the motor of socio-economic development. The state was no
longer a Rechtsgemeinschaft but a Wobhlfartgemeinschaft dedicated to
civilizing and enriching its citizens. As a result, a subsidiary part of their
politics course dealt with the mechanics of government-fostered growth
or, as it became known, the science of cameralism. In the eighteenth
century this in turn became an independent subject of study, the first
chairs in Staatswissenschaft being founded at Frankfurt-on-Oder and
Halle in 1727. In the hands especially of the G6ttingen professor,
J. H. G. von Justi (1720-71), the new science developed beyond an inter-
est primarily in government tariff policies and domain management into
a discipline that included demography and public health. Professors, too,
became increasingly concerned with the problems of data collection and
part of the course was given over to the study of statistics. It was a
matter of some debate, however, as to which faculty this new discipline
belonged. Cameralism was clearly an offshoot of politics but it was also
closely connected with public law in that the government’s freedom of

oing, ‘Die juristische Fakultat’ (note 77), 46-7; Coing, ‘Padua’ (note 78), 194.
83 Coing, ‘Die juristische Fakultat’ ( ), 46-7; Coing, ‘Padua’ ( 8)

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action to increase the country’s wealth could be severely limited by con-
stitutional reality. In consequence, chairs were established in either fac-
ulty and a definite location for the subject never realized. No wonder
von Justi in his classic cameralist textbook of 1758 called for the erection
of an independent faculty of economics in which instruction would be
given in chemistry, natural history, mechanics and politics with special
reference to their social utility.**

The introduction of these new curricular disciplines into the faculties
of law outside northern Germany and the United Provinces was only
rapidly realized in the other Lutheran and Calvinist parts of Europe.
Edinburgh, Basle and Uppsala, for instance, quickly followed the lead
of Leiden and Halle, but not so the universities of Anglican England. In
England, of course, common law was traditionally taught outside the
universities at the Inns of Court in London. Not surprisingly then, it
was 1800 before civil law ceased to be the only official subject in the
curriculum at Cambridge, while the common-law chair at Oxford only
existed from 1753.” In Catholic southern Europe the new subjects were
introduced very slowly. In southern Germany it was only with the ejec-
tion of the Jesuits in the early 1770s that change was successfully
effected, despite the pioneering work of J. A. Ickstatt (1702-76) at
Wiirzburg and Ingolstadt.** The situation in the Iberian universities was
just as parlous. The Castilian universities were supposed to provide
instruction on the 1567 Recopilacion (the Castilian law code) from 1713
but the crown’s will was disregarded and it was the early 1770s again
before Salamanca began to give a course in Spanish law.®’ Even in
France, where instruction in the customs and the royal ordonnances was
introduced as early as 1679, the revolution remained incomplete.
Despite the jeremiads of contemporary jurisconsultants, such as A. G.
Boucher d’Argis (1708-91), the professors showed a minimal interest in
the changes occurring across the Rhine. On the eve of the French Revol-
ution no lectures at all were given in public law or cameralism (except
at Strasburg, where instruction was given on the constitution of the Holy

84 J. Briickner, Staatswissenschaft, Kameralismus und Naturrecht (Berlin, 1977); E.
Hellmuth, Naturphilosophie und birokratischer Werthorizont. Studien zur preussischen
Geistes- und Sozialgeschichte des 18. Jahrhunderts (Gottingen, 1985).

85 L. Sutherland, ‘William Blackstone and the Legal Chairs at Oxford’, in Sutherland,
Politics and Finance (note 11), 551-62.

86 N. Hammerstein, Aufklarung und katholisches Reich: Untersuchungen zur Universitats-
reform und Politik katholischer Territorien des Heiligen ROmischen Reichs deutscher
Nation im 18. Jahrhundert, Historische Forschungen, 12 (Berlin, 1977), esp. chs. 2 and
3 on Ickstatt.

87 Addy, The Enlightenment (note 72), 108, 113-14; Luig, ‘The Institutes of National
Law’ (note 80), 198-9, 214-15.

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Curricula

Roman Empire), and the only chair of natural law was to be found in
the independent Paris Collége de France.**

The most obvious underlying reason for the expansion of the law
curriculum after 1600 lies in the growth of the early modern state. In
the late Middle Ages the state as the term is understood today did not
exist. There was a central government apparatus, certainly, that had a
judicial and fiscal function but its administrative reach was small. In
particular, the administration of justice was normally highly decentral-
ized. Even in so-called Roman law areas people lived under a custom
often unique to the village manorial court, and few countries had a body
of statute law that seriously clashed with local traditions or commanded
nationwide allegiance. As a result, the judicial apparatus of the central
government confined its attentions to the more intractable civil suits and
particularly heinous crimes. In such a situation it made sense to train
lawyers in Roman rather than in contemporary jurisprudence. Many
graduates would become members of the state’s judicial and financial
machine, where much of their time would be spent in settling disputes
brought before them by irate merchants, landowners and tax-payers
convinced that their customary rights had been violated by their neigh-
bours or the state. A knowledge of Roman law was a useful instrument
for solving such disputes in a suitably erudite and apparently impartial
way. Roman law was deemed to be the perfect legal system, an encyclo-
paedic but rational entity, based on principles of natural justice. It was
the perfect tool, therefore, for helping lawyers untangle a web of con-
flicting customs, or find a solution on which common law gave no guid-
ance. Furthermore, on matters of public law, dealt with in the final
books of the Code especially, Roman law conveniently boosted the auth-
ority of the crown vis-a-vis subjects.

In the course of the period 1500-1800, however, the state became a
much more active and swollen entity. No longer content to play the role
of the judicial umpire, many states in the late fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries ordered that the customs be collected and rationalized. The
prince henceforth often only permitted his subjects to live under their
traditional custom if it had been given the royal imprimatur. At the same
time, particular customary laws were obviated by state legislation on
the grounds of their irrationality, while particularly coherent collections
(such as the custom of Paris) were given a priority in cases of conflict.
Swiftly a body of national law was developed, all the more quickly in

88 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 6, sect. 1; J. Portemer, ‘Recherches sur |’ensei-
gnement du droit public au XVIIle siécle’, Revue historique de droit francais et étranger,
37 (1959), 341-97; C. Chéne, L’Enseignement du droit francais en pays de droit écrit
(1679-1793), Travaux d’histoire éthico-politique, 39 (Geneva, 1982).

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that the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries were an era of demo-
graphically inspired economic growth and social dislocation which
threw up problems only central governments could begin to tackle. By
the seventeenth century the state was legislating in a wide variety of
areas that had previously been outside its self-perceived field of com-
petence: currency reform, external trade, education, poor relief, and so
on. And once it had got the legislative bit between its teeth, there was no
stopping its charge. The period 1650-1730 was one of relative economic
stagnation. Nevertheless, indeed in consequence, the state became even
more interventionist, and the trend continued when the economy began
to grow once again in the mid-eighteenth century. In fact, by the end of
the period there was scarcely any aspect of human life into which some
enlightened despot at some time or other had not poked his or her intrus-
ive nose. By then so vast was the legislative output that many countries
had embarked on the task of codification. The race was on to produce
a national equivalent to the Code of Justinian and in 1791 (revised in
1794) the prize was inevitably claimed by Prussia, the most bureau-
cratized state of them all.*

The evolution of the early modern state into a legislative leviathan
made the detailed study of Roman law steadily more and more irrel-
evant. Now that the customs were published and rationalized and an
ever-increasing body of state legislation offered solutions to almost every
legal contingency, its value as a law of equity was considerably reduced.
On the other hand, a detailed knowledge of contemporary private and
public law became an essential part of legal training. Too complex a
morass to be easily digested in its uncodified form by a student working
on his own, its study necessarily had to become part of the faculty cur-
riculum. At the same time, it is easy to see why there was a need for a
course in legal principles or natural law. Faced with frequently conflict-
ing legislative solutions to problems unknown to Roman law, lawyers
needed a set of incontrovertible principles to which they could refer
when the legality of a given action was in dispute. Furthermore, as many
students of law became bureaucrats in the service of this interventionist
monster, it made sense that part of their university cursus was devoted
to the new science of cameralism. Appropriately, it was the state that
usually initiated the curricular revolution, for it was the development of
the state that had made it necessary.

That said, it must be realized that the downgrading of civil law was

8° H. Weill, Frederick the Great and Samuel Von Cocceji (Madison, Wis., 1961). Attempts
to create a unified code of national law began in France under Louis XV’s chancellor,
D’Aguesseau: see F. Olivier-Martin, Histoire du droit francais des origines jusqu’a la
Révolution (Paris, 1951), 352-5; Olivier-Martin’s work is a good account of the early
modern explosion in national law.

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Curricula

also encouraged by a fundamental transformation in the character of
legal exegesis. At the turn of the sixteenth century the professors of civil
law were wedded to a school of analysis developed by the fourteenth-
century Bolognese professor, Bartolus. Their primary aim was to confirm
the homogeneity and rationality of Roman law by demonstrating
through logical analysis how any particular law or judgement in the
Code or Digest could be related to a set of fundamental legal principles
underpinning the system. In so doing, the professors paid scant regard
to uncovering the intended meaning of the text before them, which was
merely their starting-point. If the text was ambiguous or not easily sub-
ject to a rational analysis, then the professors provided a suitable gloss.
The emphasis was on maintaining the integrity of the system, not on
being true to the spirit of the law-giver or jurisconsultant.

Such a cavalier disregard for the text necessarily antagonized the
humanists, who believed that the first purpose of any textual exegesis
was to reveal the intention of the author. Inevitably, therefore, the six-
teenth century saw the development of a rival historical school dedicated
to subjecting the Code and the Digest to an etymological rather than a
rationalist analysis. From the outset this new school evolved within the
university world. It began in Italy at the turn of the century but was
especially developed in France, where it was introduced into the faculty
of Bourges in the late 1520s by Andreas Alciatus (1492-1550). As a
result, it became dubbed the mos gallicus to distinguish it from the mos
italicus of the Bartolists. The greatest practitioner of the school was the
Bourges professor, Jacques Cujas (1522-90), whose humanist analysis
of civil law texts became the standard authority for the next two centur-
ies. From France the mos gallicus was exported to the faculties of Germ-
any and the Netherlands, but increasingly in the seventeenth century the
best exegetal work was done by scholars unattached to the universities.
This was particularly true of the famous Dutch antiquarian school,
known as the elegant school (elegante school), few of whose members
held faculty posts.”

The early modern retreat from legal rationalism inevitably had an
eventual effect on the status of Roman law. Cujas might still pay lip
service to the idea that it formed a coherent system of equity but his
exegetal emphasis on the etymological meaning of the text and his com-
plete lack of interest in Bartolism seemed to suggest that it was a histori-
cal artefact. What value, then, could Roman jurisprudence have as an

°° H. E. Troye, ‘Die Literatur des gemeines Rechts unter dem Einfluss der Humanismus’,
in Coing, Handbuch I, 615-796; D. Maffei, Gli inizi dell’umanismo juridico (Milan,
1956); D. R. Kelley, Foundations of Modern Historical Scholarship (New York, 1970);
K. H. Burmeister, Das Studium der Rechte im Zeitalter des Humanismus im deutschen
Rechtsbereich (Stuttgart, 1974).

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interpretative support for contemporary law: public, private or custom-
ary? It was only a matter of time before jurisconsultants in the common-
law-dominated regions of northern Europe would declare that the study
of civil law was professionally pointless. In fact, one of Cujas’s col-
leagues at Bourges, Francois Hotman (1524-90), did so as early as 1570,
but it was the mid-seventeenth century before the idea became common
currency.”

Not that the humanist-inspired professors of the second half of the
period wanted to cut contemporary jurisprudence completely adrift from
its rationalist moorings. Thomasius, who successfully deployed Cujacian
techniques in his study of German public law at Halle in the early eight-
eenth century, certainly did, but he was exceptional.”* The majority, less
historicist, still wanted some absolute yardstick against which they could
examine, if necessarily critically, the rationality of their native legal
system. It was for this reason that the study of natural law became such
an important part of the curriculum in many countries after 1650. While
Roman law and equity were considered synonymous, a separate examin-
ation of natural justice was irrelevant. Indeed, in the sixteenth century its
study was almost entirely the preserve of Spanish theologians, doubtless
encouraged by the Castilian conquest of the New World to reflect more
deeply than their late medieval predecessors on the rights and duties of
primitive man, unenlightened by divine revelation. It was figures such
as the Salamancan Dominican, Francisco de Vitoria (c. 1485-1546), and
the Jesuit Suarez who initially developed the discipline.”? An interest in
natural law was also occasionally found among Protestant theologians,
e.g. the Copenhagen professor Neils Hemmingen (1513-1600).

However, once civil law had lost its eternal credentials, an understand-
ing of the natural relations between men became the concern of juris-
consultants as well, although their approach to the subject was to be
radically different. The theologians posited a biblical state of nature akin
to the Garden of Eden before the Fall, where all was sweetness and light.
In contrast, the Protestant professors who introduced the discipline into
the law curriculum preferred a more hard-headed, secular approach epi-
tomized by the popular aprioristic textbook of Pufendorf and the much
more empirically orientated manual prepared outside the university by
the Dutch jurisconsultant Hugo Grotius (1583-1645).

71D. R. Kelley, Francois Hotman: a Revolutionary’s Ordeal (Princeton, N.J., 1970).

2 Cf. the comments in Hammerstein, Jus und Historie (note 32), 54-62, 72-147, passim.

93 J. Kohler, ‘Die spanischen Naturrechtslehrer des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts’, Archiv fir
Rechts- und Wirtschaftsphilosophie, 10 (1916-17), 235-63; B. Hamilton, Political
Thought in Sixteenth-Century Spain (Oxford, 1963).

4 See S. E. Styke, Copenhagen University: Five Hundred Years of Science and Scholarship
(Copenhagen, 1979), 43-6.

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Curricula

THE FACULTY OF MEDICINE

At the turn of the sixteenth century few universities had properly func-
tioning medical faculties.”> Although most had been given the right by
the pope to establish medical teaching, the only important centres out-
side Italy were the schools of Montpellier and Paris. This reflected the
low esteem in which the medical profession was held north of the Alps.
If the rich took medical advice at all, they would be as likely to consult
their barber as a qualified practitioner. In the course of the early modern
period, however, the well-to-do northerner became increasingly more
sensitive to the pains of the flesh and a little more discriminating in his
choice of physician. In consequence, by the end of the eighteenth century
virtually every country had at least one respectable medical faculty and
tyros were no longer compelled to take the long road to Padua and
Bologna. Admittedly, the Italian faculties and Montpellier and Paris,
too, always retained their international reputation. But after 1500 they
were not the only stars in the medical galaxy. Tiibingen added its light
to the firmament in the sixteenth century, then Leiden a century later,
and by the mid-eighteenth century Halle, Vienna, Gottingen, Strasburg
and Edinburgh all shone equally brightly.

Medicine, therefore, was a peculiar traditional curricular subject in
that it grew gradually to maturity as the period progressed. Starting as
a Cinderella, the poor relation of the higher sciences in every faculty
apart from Padua and Montpellier, by the age of the Enlightenment it
had become an acknowledged princess, the only one of the three the
philosophes considered worthy of study. Furthermore, as a university
discipline it continued to remain extraordinary even as its status was
raised, owing to the increasing practical orientation of the curriculum.
The teaching of philosophy, theology and law was almost exclusively
organized around the theoretical Jectio. As we saw, this consisted of a
stylized hourly address. The professor would mount the rostrum, read
a passage from a prescribed texts, then offer a personal exegesis that
might be delivered verbatim or, more usually, was dictated from a care-
fully prepared set of notes. By the eighteenth century, in contrast, vir-
tually every medical faculty provided both theoretical and practical
tuition. It was not just that professors would refer to actual medical
practice when they spoke ex cathedra, for this they had always done to
a certain extent in discussing pathology or, as it was often called, medica
practica. It was rather that their words of wisdom were henceforth given
a visual embodiment in the accompanying courses of anatomy, surgery,
botany and pharmacy. Practical medicine might continue to be taught

°° See volume 1, chapter 11.

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in a highly stylized manner and be textually orientated, but the student’s
gaze was now firmly fixed on the activity at the demonstrating table,
not on the professorial lectern.

This again was an early modern development that had begun in the
Italian faculties in the first half of the sixteenth century. At the beginning
of the period two Italian faculties, Padua and Bologna, already regularly
gave lectures in anatomy, and in the first decades of the sixteenth century
their example began to be imitated throughout the peninsula. By the
middle of the century many Italian faculties had established practical
training in earnest, and lectures in surgery, botany and pharmacy, as
well as anatomy, were by then commonplace. Moreover, permanent
instruction had been ensured by the foundation of titular chairs. Padua
had a botany professor in 1533, Bologna in 1534, Ferrara in 1541 and
Pisa in 1544.”° Italy’s innovations were swiftly translated north of the
Alps. By the end of the sixteenth century frequent anatomies and herbor-
isations were regular events in the calendar of many medical faculties,
although for a long time tuition was only provided by private enthusi-
asts. Paris, for instance, boasted a number of great sixteenth-century
anatomists, such as Jacques Sylvius (1478-1555), the first to use col-
oured dyes in anatomical experiments. Nevertheless, it was 1623 before
the faculty organized an annual official dissection.”” Pharmacy and sur-
gery, on the other hand, took longer to take root in the northern medical
curriculum. Both subjects had been traditionally the intellectual property
of the apothecaries and surgeons, considered north of the Alps to be
medical artisans and the subordinates of the faculty-trained physicians.
As a result, medical students tended to treat the two studies with con-
tempt. Before the mid-seventeenth century, therefore, although faculties
often provided lectures for apprentice surgeons and apothecaries, they
seldom insisted that their own students attend. In the Italian faculties,
however, this prejudice was less acute, for in the north of the peninsula
especially status distinctions between physicians and surgeons at least
were not so marked.”® Indeed, in some Italian universities even in the

96 Schmitt, ‘Science in the Italian Universities’ (note 62), 42-3; Bylebyl, ‘The School of
Padua’ (note 7), 352-68; E. A. Underwood, ‘The Early Teaching of Anatomy at Padua
with Special Reference to a Model of the Paduan Anatomy Theatre’, Annals of Science,
19 (1963), 5.

7” Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 8, sect. 1. Underwood, ‘The Early Teaching of
Anatomy’ (note 96), 8, gives the date in the sixteenth century of the first known dissec-
tion at ten universities north of the Alps.

72 C. M. Cipolla, Public Health and the Medical Profession in the Renaissance
(Cambridge, 1976), 74-9, argues in favour of a sharp status distinction between phys-
icians and surgeons in sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Italy too. For the distinc-
tion between surgeons and physicians see also chapters 9, pp. 403-6, and 11, p. 454.

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sixteenth century, it was possible for surgeons not just to follow univer-
sity courses but actually to take degrees in surgery.

The introduction of practical medical tuition in the course of the six-
teenth and seventeenth centuries can be observed in all but the humblest
faculties. In the eighteenth century, in contrast, a further expansion in
practical medical provision affected only the most prestigious schools.
In the first place, a number of subjects traditionally taught under the
umbrella of surgery and pharmacy were elevated to the dignity of separ-
ate sciences, in particular obstetrics and chemistry. In the latter case
the move was of singular importance. Although chemistry still normally
remained a medical discipline, supposedly propaedeutic to pharmacy, it
was taught henceforth in isolation from therapeutics, often by exper-
imental pioneers such as Joseph Black (1723-99) at Edinburgh. Indeed,
significantly, when chairs in chemistry were established in the Swedish
universities (at Uppsala in 1750, Lund 1758, and Abo 1761), they were
not erected in the medical faculty at all, but in the arts faculty as part
of the course in Staatswissenschaft.” In the second place, a handful of
faculties began to offer tuition in clinical medicine. Some form of bedside
teaching seems to have been introduced by G. B. Montanus (1498-15 §2)
at Padua in the mid-sixteenth century, but the practice was never for-
malized. The first professor undoubtedly to establish a clinical course
was Herman Boerhaave (1668-1738) at Leiden in the early eighteenth
century. Although the Dutchman’s innovation collapsed on his death,
his work was continued elsewhere by his disciples, notably at Vienna,
Edinburgh and Strasburg. Thereby a firm grounding was laid for the
dramatic growth of clinical medicine in the quarter century after 1789.'°°
Finally, mention must be made of the introduction at Padua of a course
in veterinary medicine. This was a subject for which there had been no
institutionalized instruction anywhere before 1750. The Venetian uni-

°° C. Meinel, ‘Artibus Academicis Inserenda: Chemistry’s Place in Eighteenth and Early-
Nineteenth Century Universities’, History of Universities, 7 (1988), 89-116. For Black
and Edinburgh chemistry, see A. L. Donovan, Philosophical Chemistry in the Scottish
Enlightenment. The Doctrines and Discoveries of William Cullen and Joseph Black
(Edinburgh, 1975).

Bylebyl, ‘The School of Padua’ (note 7), 339-47; G. A. Lindeboom, Herman Boer-
haave. The Man and his Work (London, 1968), 282-305, 363-72; F. J. Brechka,
Gerard Van Swieten and His World 1700-1772 (The Hague, 1970), 134-70; O. Keel,
‘The Politics of Health and the Institutionalization of Clinical Practices in the Second
Half of the Eighteenth Century’, in B. Bynum and R. Porter (eds.), William Hunter
and the Eighteenth-Century Medical World (Cambridge, 1985), 207-56; T. Gelfand,
Professionalizing Modern Medicine. Paris Surgeons and Medical Science and Insti-
tutions in the 18th Century (Westport/London, 1980), chs. 6-8; M. Foucault, Nais-
sance de la clinique (Paris, 1963; 2nd edn Paris, 1972); English translation by A. M.
Sheridan Smith, The Birth of the Clinic: an Archeology of Medical Perception (New
York, 1975).

j=)

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Laurence Brockliss

versity, traditionally in the van of medical developments, possessed a
course from 1773.'”

There is a great difference, however, between the provision of practi-
cal tuition and its assimilation by the student body. For practical courses
to have been either enticing or beneficial they had to be situated in a
specially constructed theatre or laboratory. Without an indoor, well-
ventilated, well-lit locale and tiered seating around a central table, a
student would see no further than his neighbour’s hat. Without a botan-
ical garden, herborisations degenerated into rambles in the countryside.
But before 1600 few faculties had such facilities. Although the first bot-
anical gardens were founded at Pisa and Padua as early as 1544, there
was no permanent anatomical theatre anywhere before the construction
of an auditorium at Padua and Leiden in 1595 and 1597. Even in the
seventeenth century many faculties only slowly gained a suitable site:
Paris and Oxford in the 1620s; Copenhagen in 1640-3; Uppsala as late
as 1662. Indeed, in France smaller faculties, such as Toulouse, never
established a botanical garden at all in the period.’” In the absence of
such facilities faculties had to make do as best they could. Anatomies
took place in stifling temporary wooden theatres or out in the open air
unprotected from the winter cold. Neither locale was likely to attract
any but the pugnacious enthusiast, willing and able to fight his way to
the front.

In fact, even after 1700 when the facilities had generally greatly
improved, there was still little incentive for the average student to attend,
since he was seldom specifically examined in practical medicine.
Throughout the period, most medical graduands, like their peers in the-
ology and law, were subject simply to a series of private and public
orals, where they demonstrated their ability to maintain a position in
a dispute. The knowledge they were called on to display was entirely
theoretical. Only a handful of faculties in the course of the eighteenth
century managed to introduce a practical dimension into the rubric. The
most rigorous demands were made at Paris, where a student could only
obtain a doctorate after the 1730s by passing examinations in anatomy
and surgery, which consisted of two week-long dissections. The normal
medical faculty lacked the means to assess its graduates so assiduously,
if only because corpses in any numbers were hard to obtain. Paris could
afford the luxury, however, since no more than two or three students
took a degree there each year. This was the result of the exceedingly
high cost of a Paris doctorate that brought immediate entrée into the

101 Pp, Bandelli, ‘La medicina veterinaria nell’Universita di Padova’, Atti e memorie
dell’Academia patavina di scienze, lettere ed arti, §9 (1942), 213.
102 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 8, sect. 1.

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magic circle of licensed practitioners in the French capital.’°? Presum-
ably, the majority of medical graduates left university with little practical
knowledge. Many gained the necessary experience to engage confidently
in general practice only after taking their degrees, by working as hospital
interns or attaching themselves to a successful physician.

The course in theoretical medicine on which the students were thus
primarily judged understandably experienced the same epistemological
shift in the mid-seventeenth century as the course in philosophy. Before
1650 the professors explored the mysteries of health and disease purely
in terms of the benign or adverse activity of the substantial forms of
the bodily parts. Thereafter qualitative physiology and pathology was
gradually replaced by iatromechanism. The body ceased to be a living
organism and became an inert machine dependent for its proper working
on optimum levels of motion and pressure. What little is known about
the chronology of the shift suggests that in this case the time differential
between Protestant and Catholic parts of Europe was less clearly defined.
Certainly, Protestants were the first to latch on to Descartes’s medical
ideas; indeed, a professor at Utrecht, Henry Regius (1598-1675), was
publicly supporting iatromechanism as early as 1640.'% But many Cath-
olic professors seem to have been quite swiftly converted as well, perhaps
because the theological constraints on the medical faculties were fewer.
By the early 1670s iatromechanism had definitely gained a hearing at
Montpellier, and two decades later G. Baglivi (1668-1707) had no diffi-
culty in introducing the new philosophy to the Sapienza at Rome.’”

In two important respects, however, the history of the teaching of
theoretical medicine bore an individual imprint. In the first place, the
dominant qualitative medical philosophy was not Aristotelianism tout
court. The Peripatetic Master had admittedly been the author of several
impressive and indeed empirically orientated physiological treatises, but
his work had been later corrected and supplanted in the second century
AD by the Roman physician, Galen. The latter, too, had been an import-
ant pathologist, a field in which Aristotle made no contribution. It was
Galen above all who developed and integrated into a system the studies
of disease left by a group of Greek physicians of the fifth and fourth
centuries BC, judged in the early modern period to be the work of a
single individual, Hippocrates. The medical philosophy taught in the fac-
ulties of the sixteenth and the first half of the seventeenth centuries,

03 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 2, sect. m1, and ch. 8, sect. 1. In contrast, the
requirements demanded of graduates at even so prestigious a faculty as Leiden were
trivial; see Lindeboom, Boerhaave (note 100), 36-8.

104 K. E. Rothschuh, ‘Henricus Regius und Descartes’, Archives internationales d’histoire
des sciences, 21 (1968), 36-66.

105 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 8, sect. 1; C. C. Gillispie (ed.), Dictionary of
Scientific Biography, 16 vols. (New York, 1970-80), sub Baglivi.

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therefore, was Galenic and not Aristotelian, although Aristotle provided
the epistemological base.

In the second place, the mechanical philosophy never gained such a
secure and uncompromising foothold in the medical faculties as it had
done in the faculties of arts. The Newtonian critique of Cartesianism
may have questioned the ontological solidity of mechanist physics, but
it never challenged the validity of a mechanist approach to natural
phenomena per se. Even those Newtonians who believed in a multiple-
force universe accepted that propulsion by contact was the normal
method of movement. From the beginning of the mechanist era, how-
ever, there were always some professors of medicine who rejected the
fundamental tenets of iatromechanism. Human physiology in their eyes
was too complex to be explained simply in mechanical terms: the physio-
logical effect was often out of all proportion to the apparent mechanical
cause. Man, consequently, was not a machine but an organism endowed
with vital powers whose potential may have been realized through mech-
anical causes, but these were strictly secondary.

This rival vitalist philosophy was first enunciated at the turn of the
eighteenth century by Georg Ernst Stahl (1660-1734), professor at the
new University of Halle. In the course of the eighteenth century, how-
ever, support for vitalism became particularly associated with Montpell-
ier through the efforts of figures such as J. P. Barthez (1734-1816).'°
Admittedly, Montpellier’s example was not contagious. Few faculties
became wholeheartedly vitalist, for most professors attracted to the
vitalist critique of mechanism cultivated a sceptical agnosticism.’°’ A
typical figure was the Edinburgh professor William Cullen (1710-90),
who lectured on theoretical medicine from 1760.” In other words, vital-
ism was an irritant rather than a competitor. As such, however, it still
played an important formative role. Arguably, it was a positive stimulant
to a more empirically orientated and carefully articulated mechanism.
By deriding the insufficiencies of mechanical explanations, the vitalists’
criticism made the iatromechanists of the second half of the eighteenth
century less dogmatic and philosophically ambitious.

This was a salutary influence. The first generation of iatromechanists,
such as Baglivi and the Leiden professor, Archibald Pitcairn (1652-
1713), had been arrogant and often superficial systematizers, pontificat-
ing about the internal structure of the human body on the basis of little

106 'L. King, ‘Stahl and Hoffmann. A Study in Eighteenth-Century Animism’, Journal for
the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 19 (1964), 118-30; E. Haigh, ‘J. P. Bar-
thez: Clash of Monism and Dualism’, Medical History, 21 (1977), I-14.

107 The best recent study of the development of vitalism in the late seventeenth and eight-
eenth centuries is F. Duchesneau, La Physiologie des Lumiéres. Empiricisme, modeéles
et théories (The Hague, 1982), esp. 1-64, 103-71.

108 Lawrence, ‘Medicine as Culture’ (note 9), ch. 8, esp. 315-36.

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or no evidence. Confident that physiological processes in vivo could
easily be replicated im vitro, they had a scant understanding of exper-
imental verification. At the same time, they preferred simple and one-
dimensional solutions. After 1750, on the other hand, the iatromechan-
ists were more cautious and less combative. They recognized how little
was known about the mechanism of health and disease and rejected any
attempt at systematization. Instead, professors took a novel interest in
semiology following the lead of the Montpellier nosologist, Francois
Boissier de Sauvages (1706-67), or imitated the great Paduan pathol-
ogist, Giambattista Morgagni (1682-1771), in identifying the internal
site of the disease, nothing more. Thereby, in the first case, they took a
leaf from the naturalists’ book, for botanists in particular had been busy
since the Renaissance seeking the perfect system of classification. Nos-
ology, however, quickly repaid the debt. The great eighteenth-century
Swedish naturalist, Linnaeus, who taught in the medical faculty at
Uppsala was himself inspired by the work of Boissier de Sauvages.!”’

This promotion of a more sceptical iatromechanism explains why the
most widely read and respected medical philosopher of the second half
of the eighteenth century was the pioneer of clinical medicine, Herman
Boerhaave. The early eighteenth century Leiden professor was in many
respects just another iatromechanical systemizer with a bias towards
understanding disease totally in terms of lesions to the bodily solids. All
the same, he tempered his rationalism with an empiricist’s humility,
always recognizing how hypothetical his explanations were, and placing
a premium on observation. Through the efforts of his many pupils from
foreign lands and the dissemination of his ideas in the editions of
Albrecht von Haller (1708-77) and Gerhard van Swieten (1700-72),
Boerhaave gradually became the standard author in virtually every medi-
cal faculty. In the 1770s his work was even recommended at Salamanca
(ever fearful of Protestant subversion), confirming that the Dutchman,
if not a medical Newton, was certainly a second Galen.'’®

Enough has been said in the previous pages to discredit the traditional
view that during the Renaissance the universities sank into an intellectual
torpor from which they were only awakened by the reforms and new
foundations of the early nineteenth century.’*’ Even if the universities
made little positive contribution to the revolution in natural philosophy
(although it should never be forgotten that both Galileo and Newton

1° Gillispie, Dictionary (note 105), sub Morgagni; R. J. Martin, ‘Francois Boissier de
Sauvages (1706-1767), M.Phil., Cambridge, 1984, esp. 5-7, 9.

1° Lindeboom, Boerhaave (note 100), 74, 266-82, 356-72; G. A. Lindeboom, Biblio-
graphie Boerhaaviana (Leiden, 1959).

™! See also chapter 13.

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Laurence Brockliss

were university men), they continued to play a crucial creative role in
the genesis of new ideas in the other sciences. Luther, Cujas, Boerhaave
and Kant are only the brightest lights in a galaxy of university stars
whose original endeavours in their chosen field brought them an inter-
national and lasting fame. Such figures, too, might never have climbed
their intellectual Everest had not the groundwork been prepared by
numerous unremembered professorial colleagues. How could Cujas have
secured the foundations of legal humanism without the pioneering work
of an Alciatus? The intellectual giants of the university world seldom
worked in isolation but within an academic tradition, albeit relatively
new, that they radically developed and left for their successors to refine.

That said, it must be admitted that in the early modern period the
universities lost their former monopoly over creative thought, not only
in natural philosophy but in all branches of human knowledge. This was
obviously the case in epistemology and metaphysics, but it was even true
in theology and law. In the eighteenth century the most original and
daring work in the field of biblical criticism, as we have noted, was done
outside the faculties by figures such as Reimarus. However, this radical
departure from the situation in the previous era is readily understandable
in terms of the wider diffusion of cultural patronage. In the late Middle
Ages, outside Italy, the universities were the natural and only home of
the scholar. In early modern Europe, in contrast, the court, the nobility
and even the merchant-prince increasingly provided an alternative refuge
for the man of letters, one too that was eventually given institutional
form with the creation after 1650 of the professional academy. This
development was a reflection of the new wealth and urbanity of aristo-
cratic society. It was in no way a necessary sign of the university’s deca-
dence. That this alternative refuge proved so attractive was simply
because the lay patron usually paid more and demanded less. By turning
his back on the university world, the intellectual could often, though
not always, escape the onerous burden of teaching and the frustrating
need to conduct his research within the bounds of theological propriety.
All the same, he bought his freedom at a price: patrons could be tetchy,
perfidious and too often ready to isolate dependent clients in a country-
house cage. The very fact that so many intellectual heavyweights con-
tinued to find a niche in the university world in the period suggests that
many scholars found their primary stimulus in security and academic
companionship.

Admittedly, too, not every university was a dynamic centre of thought.
On the contrary, the majority made no positive contribution to contem-
porary European civilization at all, or merely displayed a temporary
burst of creative energy. What professor at St Andrews ever achieved
an international reputation? Who looked to Bourges as the centre of

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civilian jurisprudence after the death of Cujas? But this again is a truth
that is scarcely surprising. In 1700 Europe was a pre-industrial society
of some 100 million inhabitants, feeding its plethora of universities with
the male progeny of a narrow socio-professional elite. It was a society
that could never have generated enough original thinkers to make every
university a cultural power-house, especially with the constant haemor-
rhage of potential stars to the court and the country-house. Indeed, in
the circumstances in order to validate the credentials of the institution
as an original cultural force, it is enough to remember that throughout
the period virtually every country of any size had at least one university
of international renown. This was especially true of the eighteenth cen-
tury, often seen as the nadir of the university’s history. For every St
Andrews there was an Edinburgh, and for every Bourges a Montpellier
and Paris.

Moreover, it is unfair to judge the university’s cultural role simply in
terms of its originality. The universities were primarily teaching insti-
tutions. Professors were not expected to advance knowledge but package
it in a convenient form for mass consumption. The early modern univer-
sity could only be justly dismissed as a cultural dinosaur, if it could be
shown that the curriculum was moribund and that students were not
kept abreast of current intellectual developments. This, however, was
far from being the case. Irrespective of whether new ideas appeared out-
side or inside the university milieu, provided they were not politically
or theologically heterodox, they were eventually incorporated into the
syllabus of the most insignificant faculty. Indeed, in the eighteenth cen-
tury the uptake was particularly rapid and even heterodox ideas received
a serious if unsympathetic hearing. There was nothing the Paris theologi-
cal student did not know of atheism and deism.'’”

The real role of the early modern university, therefore, was as an agent
of cultural transmission, and in this guise it provided an essential service.
The three great intellectual movements of the period, the Reformation
and Counter-Reformation, the Scientific Revolution, and the Enlighten-
ment, all left a permanent mark on European civilization primarily
because they became embedded in the cultural consciousness of the
social elite. But this was not the result of some preordained law of his-
torical development. It only happened because members of the elite
encountered these movements as they passed through the universities in
their formative years. Before 1750 when wide-ranging book-reading was
still uncommon and journals and newspapers virtually unknown outside
England and the United Provinces, the professorial chair was the vital
link in the chain of communication. The professor formed the minds of

"2 Brockliss, French Higher Education, ch. 4, sect. m1; ch. 5, sect. 0; conclusion.

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the elite in the same way as the priest and the parson formed the minds
of the poor. The universities were a crucial adjunct of European civiliz-
ation; without them there could have been no cultural dynamic.

Finally, it must be stressed that the intellectual vitality of the early
modern university cannot simply be measured in terms of its official
curriculum. Within the congenial penumbra of the larger universities at
any rate, there existed throughout the period a wide variety of alterna-
tive sources of education. It was not just that students might sometimes
have access to a well-equipped university library, as at Leiden.''’ In
addition, colleges, hospitals, and other foundations provided a bevy of
public and private tutors and lecturers whose supplementary tuition on
both curricular and extra-curricular subjects must have lent considerable
spice to the cultural feast. Indeed, sometimes it was the very presence
of such rival sources of education that drew the students to the university
in the first place. The medical students who came to Paris in the eight-
eenth century were seldom enticed by the official faculty course. They
came for the public classes at the Jardin du Roi and the private lessons
given by figures such as the surgeon, Francois Le Drau (1685-1770),
and the chemist, Pierre Fourcroy (175 5-1809).''* Sometimes, too, pri-
vate tuition could play a central not just a peripheral role in the univer-
sity curriculum. As in other universities, the Oxford and Cambridge
tutorial system had originally developed as a means of providing well-
to-do young gentlemen with moral and academic supervision while they
pursued their education in one of the faculties. Almost immediately,
however, many of the fellows offered their charges not simply support
teaching but an alternative and far more innovative course of instruc-
tion. Indeed, by the eighteenth century, it appears, the colleges had taken
over the faculties’ functions almost entirely and the latter were merely
examining boards.'’’ Clearly, then, any picture of the cultural role of
the early modern university that concentrates exclusively on the faculties
only tells half the story. It is a sign of the dynamism of the institution,
however, that it has emerged so creditably from the preceding survey
when just such a deficient, if understandable, approach has been consist-
ently deployed.

13 E. Hulsoff Pol, ‘The Library’, in Lunsingh Scheurleer and Posthumus Meyjes (eds.),
Leiden University (note 25), 394-459. See also chapter 4, pp. 195-205.

"4 U. Boschung (ed.), Johannes Gesners Pariser Tagebuch (1727) (Berne, 1985), 44-9,
89-105; R. Rouault de la Vigne, ‘Une correspondance d’étudiants a la fin du XVIIe
siécle. Les études et |’installation d’un médecin’, Revue des sociétés savantes de Haute
Normandie, 31 (1963), 38-45.

"5S L, Sutherland, ‘The University of Oxford in the Eighteenth Century: a Reconsider-
ation’, in Sutherland, Politics and Finance (note 11), 504; Curtis, Oxford and Cam-
bridge (note 5), chs. 4-5; Kearney, Scholars and Gentlemen, ch. 1.

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SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ashmann, M. Collegia en colleges. Juridisch onderwijs aan de Leidse Universiteit
1575-1630 in het bijzonder het disputeren, Groningen, 1990.

Blettermann, P. A. Die Universitatspolitik August des Starken 1694-1733, Mit-
teldeutsche Forschungen 102, Cologne/Vienna, 1990.

Brechka, F. J. Gerard Van Swieten and His World 1700-1772, The Hague,
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Brockliss, L. W. B. French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
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Briickner, J. Staatswissenschaft, Kameralismus und Naturrecht, Berlin, 1977.

Burmeister, K. H. Das Studium der Rechte im Zeitalter des Humanismus im
deutschen Rechtsbereich, Stuttgart, 1974.

Coing, H. ‘Die juristische Fakultat und ihr Lehrprogramm’, in H. Coing (ed.),
Handbuch der Quellen und Literatur der neueren europdischen Privatrechts-
geschichte, vol. 1, Munich, 1973, 3-102 and vol. 1, Munich, 1977, 39-128.

Crosland, M. P. (ed.) The Emergence of Science in Western Europe, London,
1975.

Dibon, P. La Philosophie néerlandaise au siécle d’or, vol. 1: L’Enseignement
philosophique dans les universités a l’époque précartésienne 1575-1650,
Paris, 1954.

Goodman, D. ‘The Spanish Enlightenment’, History of Science, 21 (1983), 118-
oe

Hammerstein, N. Jus und Historie. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des historischen
Denkens an deutschen Universitaten im spadten 17. und im 18. Jahrhundert,
Gottingen, 1972.

Hellmuth, E. Naturphilosophie und biirokratischer Werthorizont. Studien zur
preussischen Geistes- und Sozialgeschichte des 18. Jahrhunderts, Gottingen,
1985.

D’Irsay, S. Histoire des universités francaises et étrangéres des origines a nos
jours, 2 vols., Paris, 1933-5.

Julia, D. and Revel, J. ‘Les étudiants et leurs études dans la France moderne’,
in D. Julia, J. Revel and R. Chartier (eds.), Les Universités européennes du
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Lindeboom, G. A. Herman Boerhaave: the Man and his Work, London, 1968.

Lunsingh Scheurleer, T. H. and Posthumus Meyjes, G. H. M. (eds.) Leiden Uni-
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Maffioli, C. S. and Palm, L. C. (eds.) Italian Scientists in the Low Countries in
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Nielsen, A. Die Entstehung der deutschen Kameralwissenschaft im 17. Jahrhun-
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Porter, R. and Teich, M. (eds.) The Enlightenment in National Context, London,
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Porter, R. and Teich, M. (eds.) The Renaissance in National Context, London,
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Roelevink, J. Gedicteerd verleden. Het onderwijs in de algemene geschiedenis
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620

EPILOGUE: THE
ENLIGHTENMENT

NOTKER HAMMERSTEIN

In the course of the eighteenth century, particular events and the general
course of development in almost all European countries were shaped in
considerable part by the ideas of the Enlightenment and by the demands
and actions to which they gave rise. This influence might take very differ-
ent forms, but there could be no mistaking the general trend.’ Even the
Russia of Peter the Great, and later of Catherine II, was swept along by
these currents; it tried, if not always consistently or successfully, to imi-
tate these European achievements, not least in the field of university
education.

THE ENLIGHTENMENT

The Enlightenment, which began in England and which in France was
given the name which provided a model for both thought and action
throughout the Continent, penetrated schools and higher educational
institutions. This penetration differed markedly among countries and tra-
ditions; it took numerous forms. Nevertheless, in both Protestant and
Catholic areas, there was a very distinctive realization of the ideals of the
Enlightenment. The very emphasis on education and practical instruction,
which was a fulfilment of the principle of the enlightenment of the human
race, required that all educational institutions should be increasingly
brought into its focus. The desire for a general improvement of human life
presupposed practical instruction and cultivation of the mind.

Just as reason (ratio) is a universal human characteristic, just as societ-
ies follow ultimately similar principles in their contractual relationships,

' E. Cassirer, Die Philosophie der Aufklarung, 2nd edn (Tiibingen, 1932); P. Gay, The
Enlightenment (London, 1973).

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Notker Hammerstein

and just as nature is subject to universal laws, which it is for the human
mind to discover, so too individuals are equally open to enlightenment
and are equally capable of enlightened thought and action. By virtue of
their enlightenment, they participate in what is general and universal.
To this extent, human beings, through their rationality, participate in a
cosmopolitan culture. This cosmopolitan culture need not necessarily be
realized by the actual experience of mankind. Such experience can be set
aside after all as ‘not yet enlightened’ and is therefore not necessarily
contradictory to the universal validity of the principle of enlightenment.
By an education which stirs the mind and a practical training which
overcomes a ‘self-induced state of dependence’ (Kant), that is, by the
exercise of critical knowledge, what was irrational and ‘hallowed only
by tradition’ could and should be suppressed and eventually abolished
altogether. Criticism of whatever exists in politics, science, religion and
society was thus an integral part of this enlightened programme of
thought.’

Naturally, notions as to what this entailed concretely varied,
depending on historical, national, political and religious circumstances.
The fundamental outlook was the same everywhere. The aim was always
to improve life and to remove existing anomalies, which were believed
to be present in all spheres of life and society. This fundamental outlook
was inimical to traditional arrangements. In the face of these critical
attitudes, a choice had to be made between finding a fresh rationale for
the traditional arrangements or they had to be changed along the lines
implied by the critical attitudes. If they could do neither, they had to
disappear.

These alternatives confronted the churches as well as states and societ-
ies in the last decades of the ancien régime. Even science and its insti-
tutions and social hierarchies had to submit to the force of these ideas.
However the ideal was formulated, whether as ‘allgemeine Gliickselig-
keit’, ‘publica felicita’, ‘utilité publique’, ‘the greatest happiness of the
greatest number’, a blessing to humanity would be achieved, once the
obstructions which stood in its way, i.e., everything irrational and
unnatural, were set aside or abolished.

This criticism could be strident, belligerent and disruptive. It was the
American War of Independence in particular which awakened Europe
to the possibility of a new and self-confident freedom; it led in the French
Revolution to the realization of this critical passion which looked
towards the future.’ This criticism could lead — through gradual

* P. Hazard, La Pensée européenne au XVIIle siécle de Montesquieu a Lessing (Paris,
1946); P. Chaunu, La Civilisation de l’Europe des Lumiéres (Paris, 1971).

> R. R. Palmer, The Age of the Democratic Revolution, 2 vols. (Princeton, N. J., 1959-
64); C. Brinton, A Decade of Revolution (New York/London, 1934).

622

The Enlightenment

improvement, through peaceful enlightenment, through reason disclosed
in the course of historical development — to the reanimation of valid
beliefs and institutions which had been exhausted and discredited
through misuse. Particular actions, decisions and deeds would have to
change, but rational criticism was bound to lead to improvement, reju-
venation and renewal; it could not but accelerate reforms. In comparison
with the first half of the century, the second half of the eighteenth cen-
tury seemed to be more excited, more uneasy, more hectic, less sure of
itself intellectually and more disposed to more rapid change.

In the second half of the century, this development, which was
common to the whole of Europe, and which was in that sense cosmo-
politan, was increasingly accompanied by tendencies which seemed to
run in the opposite direction from these generally rationalistic convic-
tions. Fundamentally, the apparent counter-tendencies were in fact not
such; they were indeed among the fruits of the progress of enlighten-
ment. A more pronounced emphasis on what we might call ‘pre-
nationality’, which stressed the value of the distinctive features of
nationalities and communities, gained ground. As had already happened
in the age of humanism, patriotic reverence came to be accorded to
ancestral traditions; the distinctive artistic, political and linguistic
achievements of a people were exaggerated in the competition among
the European states. What Montesquieu called the esprit de nation pro-
vided the classical formulation of this view: only those laws, decrees and
norms which are harmonious with its traditional modes of conduct and
patterns of belief can be appropriate and beneficial to a state. Montes-
quieu was by no means alone in this view: A similar view was taken
by the imperial propagandists of the Holy Roman Empire, by certain
philological schools in the Netherlands, by the followers of Muratori in
Italy and elsewhere, by Robertson and Gibbon in Britain, both of whom
were indebted to Montesquieu. Voltaire’s conception of history as a his-
tory of cultures, which was taken up by Herder in his idea of a cultural
nation, likewise pointed to the ‘genius of a people’ as the indispensable
contribution of the particular to the universal. All this created tensions
and conflicts in the traditional intellectual world of Europe.

NATIONALIZATION OF SCIENCE

A clear symptom of this process was the decline of the international
dialogue in which the scholars and scientists of the different European
societies had engaged in the past. Many countries, following the example
of the Royal Society of London and the Académie francaise, founded
their own national scientific and scholarly academies and thereby dimin-
ished the scale of international discussion. The internationality of intel-

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lectual exchange which had prevailed earlier in the natural sciences, but
in the other fields of learning as well, became attenuated. In many count-
ries, a prohibition on study abroad which had not been current since
the sixteenth century when Spaniards and then Frenchmen, Italians and
Englishmen were forbidden to study at foreign universities, was once
more applied as part of the merchantilist policy of the absolutist mon-
archies. Study in the universities of the student’s own country became
mandatory. Latin, which had been the universal language of scholarship,
was increasingly displaced by the various natural vernaculars, even in
theology. Latin never completely disappeared, but it lost its monopolistic
position as the lingua franca of the respublica litteraria. While the pro-
duction of books as a whole increased rapidly during the latter half of
the eighteenth century, most of the increase occurred in the publications
in the various languages. Latin was still used in only 20 or 30 per cent
of all publications in each country.

Another indication of this trend was the fact that the traditional pere-
grinationes academicae,.which were such a necessary constituent of the
experiences of a young man, had lost their attractiveness and their func-
tion and nearly disappeared altogether. The ‘grand tour’, the educational
travels abroad of the young ‘bourgeois’ cavalier became fashionable
again, and so continued the traditions of this academic institution in its
own way. It served, however, other purposes and ideals than those of
the earlier peregrinatio academica, the object of which was to broaden
knowledge and foster the career of the young traveller.*

EDUCATIONAL PRAGMATISM

The decisive feature of the latter half of the eighteenth century remained
confidence in the benefits which would be conferred by enlightenment.
It was a hope for the future — a temporal category to which increasing
importance was attributed; it was a hope that the prevailing stupidity
would be overcome; it was a criticism of many existing arrangements.
In this view, what was useful in practical affairs was preferred to theory.
Universities and similar institutions were expected to teach not meta-
physics or theology but disciplines like economics, technology, medicine,
natural sciences — not verba but res, realia. In many universities, such
disciplines as medicine and the various natural sciences in France,
‘cameralistics’ in Germany and Italy, moral philosophy in Scotland and

4M. Rassem and J. Stagl (eds.), Statistik und Staatsbeschreibung in der Neuzeit vor-
nehmlich im 16.-18. Jahrhundert (Paderborn/Munich/Vienna/Zurich, 1980) (esp. the
articles of M. Rassem, I. Toscani, J. Stag] and A. Seifert); D. Julia and J. Revel, ‘Les
pérégrinations académiques, XVIe—XVIlle siécles’, in Populations étudiantes, vol. 0,
32ff. See also chapter 10 on student mobility.

624

The Enlightenment

natural law in many European countries were expanded or taught for
the first time. Theology lost its leading place in the universities and
ceased to be the fundamental science. Everywhere, undemonstrable
beliefs and uncritical deference to authority were to be renounced; stud-
ents were increasingly to be taught to think for themselves.°

The rigid traditional universities — ‘scholastic’ as they were then
called — often seemed to the proponents of the ‘Enlightenment’ to be
incapable of serving these purposes. In France particularly, but also on
the Iberian peninsula and in Italy, the universities were thought to be
unsuitable for the realization of the ambitions of the Enlightenment.
It seemed better — as is evident from the establishment of certain new
foundations — to create specialized training institutions, e.g., in medicine,
agricultural technology, military tactics and strategy, engineering, cam-
eralistics, the fine arts and the natural sciences. The activities of the older
academics such as the Royal Society of London, the Académie des sci-
ences, the Académie des inscriptions et belles lettres, the Philosophical
Society of Dublin, the Leopoldina, Leibniz’s Akademie der Wissen-
schaften in Berlin, and the new foundations in Madrid, Lisbon, Uppsala,
Copenhagen, Bologna, Rome, Olomouc and many other places between
Stockholm and Palermo, between St Petersburg and Philadelphia, which
followed their examples from the beginning of the eighteenth century,
are evidence of this tendency to cease to rely on the universities. Thus,
after 1764, a whole series of economic and patriotic societies was created
in St Petersburg, Klagenfurt, Graz, G6rz, Vienna, Innsbruck,
Burghausen, Celle, Manchester, Birmingham, Derby, Glasgow, New
York, Madrid, La Corufia and seventy other Spanish cities as well as in
many others. Variously named and having different specialized fields of
activity, all of them thought themselves responsible for the spread of
enlightenment and of the teaching of technological and practical knowl-
edge. Directed in most cases by persons without university connections,
they initiated and welcomed contacts with societies like their own and
they copied the major academic institutions with an exclusively learned
membership. They were embodiments of these widespread tendencies.°

° See chapter 14; Brockliss, French Higher Education.

° L. Hammermayer, ‘Akademiebewegung und Wissenschaftsorganisation. Formen, Ten-
denzen und Wandel in Europa wahrend der zweiten Halfte des 18. Jahrhunderts’, in
E. Amburger, M. Ciésla and L. Sziklay (eds.), Wissenschaftspolitik in Mittel- und Osteu-
ropa. Wissenschaftliche Gesellschaften, Akademien und Hochschulen im 18. und
beginnenden 19. Jahrhundert (Berlin, 1976), 1-84; J. Voss, ‘Die Akademien als Organi-
sationstrager der Wissenschaften im 18. Jahrhundert’, Historische Zeitschrift, 231
(1980), 43-74; W. Frijhoff, ‘Geleerd genootschap en universiteit: solidair of com-
plementair in de wetenschapsontwikkeling? Nederland en de omringende landen tot in
de negentiende eeuw’, in Wetenschapsbeoefening binnen en buiten de universiteit,
Nieuwe verhandelingen van het Bataafsch genootschap der proefondervindelijke
wijsbegeerte te Rotterdam, 3rd ser., vol. v (Rotterdam, 1990), 6-19.

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The results were the foundation of specialized colleges; for example,
for agriculture, for surgery like the Charité and the Pépiniére in Berlin —
institutes for the cameralistic sciences, etc. They were a threat to the
universities where the universities stagnated, as they did in many Euro-
pean countries. The hopes of scientists and of the friends of the Enlight-
enment were focused on these academies, technical colleges, societies
and associations (see chapter 11).

In some of the countries, the universities were capable of changing
themselves so as to cope with new kinds of knowledge and to undertake
new tasks. We will not enter into the question of the extent to which, in
the various cases, it was the academics themselves who were the
initiators of changes, and of the extent to which they did so in co-
Operation with governments, or how far it was ministers and even the
princes who provided the authority and stimulus necessary for these
reforms of the universities. The results, in any case, were that theology
was replaced as the model discipline, primarily by jurisprudence; the
universities became more ‘secular’; the sciences and the scientists tried
to be ‘courtly’ or ‘elegant’, and became more hospitable to questions
and disciplines of a more modern sort. Whatever the way taken —-
whether the path of internal academic reform or a reordering of the
sciences and their institutional cultivation — the result was a radical
change in the existing world of learning, and also to some extent in the
universities. The latter type of change occurred only where the universit-
ies had remained vigorous and capable of intellectual initiative. This was
the case in the Netherlands and in the Holy Roman Empire of the
German nation.’

The position of the theological faculty - a position of leadership from
the time of the Counter-Reformation at latest but, in most cases, even
earlier — together with its claim to a monopoly of interpretation and its
role as a censor, were hamstrung and then abolished. Henceforth, the
faculties of letters found themselves relieved of their former role as ancil-
lae theologicae; they now wished to provide a propaedeutic for the fac-
ulty of law, which had become the leading academic discipline. This
process occurred in very different forms and at different moments; it
also varied in content and in depth of penetration. Despite all these dif-
ferences in detail, it was a general European phenomenon.

SECULARIZATION

In Catholic territories, this development was directed mainly against the
Jesuits. After their persecution and expulsion from Portugal in 1759, it

” See Frijhoff, Gradués; N. Hammerstein, ‘Zur Geschichte und Bedeutung der Universi-

taten im Heiligen R6mischen Reich Deutscher Nation’, Historische Zeitschrift, 241
(1985), 287-328.

626

The Enlightenment

was only another fourteen years before they were dissolved by Pope
Clement XIV (Dominus ac Redemptor) under pressure from the earthly
rulers. For the educational landscape in Catholic countries in particular,
this had far-reaching consequences and created many problems.*®

The ‘secularization’ of the academic disciplines, which was a condition
for their survival in the Enlightenment, was neither sought nor achieved
at all universities. Those where theology retained its primacy ceased to
be intellectually interesting.

This was, broadly speaking, true of Oxford and Cambridge, as well
as many French, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese universities. Occasion-
ally, in the Mediterranean Roman Catholic countries, the struggles of
the reformers against the Jesuits and their victory over them occasionally
postponed and even averted the decline of some universities; indeed,
where this happened, some of the universities became agents of the
Enlightenment.

In countries where the ties between state and church were especially
close and strong, there was an attitude of passionate hostility against the
church and against theology. The struggle on behalf of the Enlighten-
ment sometimes did not drive theology out of the universities but the
most serious intellectual discussions of the time passed them by. It left
them isolated in their orthodoxy, incapable of playing any further part
in the main intellectual discussions and it thereby prevented them from
taking steps towards their own reanimation. This was to have important
consequences for the future of theology, for the universities and even for
the position of the church in these countries.

The universities were impressively complemented by the numerous
secret societies, the Freemasons foremost; these societies also competed
with the universities as well as complementing them in learning and in
matters less connected with learning. These societies, too, felt themselves
committed to the progress of mankind, and also committed to the pro-
gress of scientific knowledge, through their own activities of a scientific
and cultural sort which disregarded the boundaries of class and estate.
Although they often remained exclusive in many respects, they longed
for an enlightenment in which all could participate freely, and without
regard for ecclesiastical restrictions. They wanted a world in which
human beings would give succour to each other. Esoteric as well as prac-
tical kinds of scientific knowledge were to enable the members of these
societies to attain their objective.’ Like the ‘patriotic’ and ‘practically

8 B. Plongeron, ‘Recherches sur l’Aufklarung catholique en Europe occidentale (1770-
1830), Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine, 16 (1969), 555-650.

° P. F. Barton, Maurer, Mysten, Moralisten (Vienna, 1982); L. Hammermeyer, ‘Zur Ge-
schiche der europdischen Freimaurerei und Geheimgesellschaften im 18. Jahrhundert’,
in E. H. Balazs (ed.), Beférderer der Aufklarung in Mittel- und Osteuropa (Berlin,
1979), 9-68; H. Reinalter (ed.), Freimaurer und Geheimbiinde im 18. Jahrhundert in
Mitteleuropa (Frankfurt-on-Main, 1983).

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useful’ academies, ‘philosophical societies’, and societies for ‘the encour-
agement of arts, manufacturers and commerce’, the secret societies like-
wise struggled against censorship, ecclesiastical tyranny, intellectual con-
descension — especially where universities and their theological faculties
had arrogated these powers to themselves. Science and learning were to
be delivered from the trammels of the guild spirit.

Though the partisans of the Enlightenment were not universally and
uniformly successful in their efforts, they did succeed in restraining
ecclesiastical and governmental censorship; in some places the latter even
disappeared altogether. Therewith freedom of publication was to a large
extent realized. Even freedom of the press — important organs of opinion
emerged early in this ‘ink-slinging’ century, as Schiller called it — was
achieved in many places and tolerated in others, although everywhere it
was the objective of regulations. It was part of the programme of the
Enlightenment to ensure the spread of its own ideas and, particularly,
to make the printed word universally accessible. Book production in
consequence attained an unprecedented level and many periodicals, with
the intention of popularizing science, educating and entertaining, sup-
plemented this immense expansion of the printed word.*°

Despite their ‘cosmopolitan’ claim, however, these newspapers, jour-
nals, and many books often remained confined — in their audience and
their radius of influence — within ‘national’ boundaries. Only the greatest
achievements of the French Enlightenment — the Encyclopédie, and the
works of Voltaire, Montesquieu and Rousseau — were known through-
out Europe. This was possible, in the first place, because the French
language had in many places become the lingua franca of the educated
classes and also because French ideas themselves were in the ascendant
and set the trend. Beyond these French authors, works by British authors
were widely known: e.g., those of Locke and Hume and the many
English natural scientists, particularly Newton. In the case of other
authors, less outstanding and less successful, translations usually assisted
the diffusion of their ideas. Many contemporary works were translated;
without such arrangements it was almost impossible for them to exercise
much influence on or even to reach a wider public. Here again, despite
claims of universality, a confinement to within rather parochial bound-
aries was common. Since, however, the cosmopolitan intention of the
Enlightenment was pervasive in the intellectual aspirations and in the
works which resulted from them, even though they were addressed to

10 ©. Dann (ed.), Lesegesellschaften und birgerliche Emanzipation (Munich, 1981);
Roche, Le Siécle des Lumiéres; R. Gruenter, Leser und Lesen im 18. Jahrhundert
(Heidelberg, 1977); W. Martens, Die Botschaft der Tugend, 2nd edn (Stuttgart, 1971);
J. Wilke, Literarische Zeitschriften des 18. Jahrhunderts (1688-1789), 2 vols. (Stuttgart,
1978).

628

The Enlightenment

and reached audiences smaller than the whole human race, the use of
the term ‘cosmopolitan’ is not unreasonable.

STATUS OF THE DISCIPLINES

In countries where the universities retained their importance and influ-
ence, there was a shift among the disciplines with respect to their status
and influence. The success of the programme of the Enlightenment
reduced the prominence of theology: theology, which had formerly been
the main faculty, paying the highest salaries to its professors, was
demoted.

The law faculty replaced it. From the mid-eighteenth century at the
latest, the ‘philosophical faculty’ — as the ‘arts men’ preferred to be called
from the seventeenth century onwards —- accepted its role as ‘hand-
maiden’ to the new leading science, but not very happily. The philo-
sophical faculty sought equal status and independence; it claimed even
to be the truly central faculty (see chapter 12).

That happened wherever the universities had a decisive role in the
spread and transplantation of the Enlightenment, as, e.g., in Germany,
Scotland and the Netherlands. In some disciplines of the philosophical
faculty, the claim to be of at least equal status to the disciplines of the
previously higher faculties was already being asserted during the late
eighteenth century. The insights, methods and substantive content of the
reforms seemed indispensable for every studiosus, so that attendance at
the appropriate courses was widely recommended and, in some univer-
sities, it was a general practice. Géttingen, the most fashionable and the
leading university of eighteenth-century Germany, provides some excel-
lent examples of this, long before the foundation of the University of
Berlin and the reorganization of the disciplines which was carried out
there.

In this situation, too, there began a development which changed the
traditional view of the scientific and scholarly disciplines and the way of
dealing with them. The encyclopaedic, topical, polymathic arrangement
and ordering of the disciplines was made more dynamic; it was changed
and rearranged. The emphasis on the useful and the practical aspects of a
subject, the new insistence of the philosophical faculty on its intellectual
dignity, and the lowered standing of the theological faculty set in motion
a process which did not so much acknowledge the relative equality of
the various disciplines but rather brought to the fore a concept of science
as such. The ideal was thereafter no longer one of encyclopaedic eru-
dition — though this continued to be a widely current practice — but
rather a systematic ordering of the particular subjects and their system-

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atic study. The erudite scholar of former years began to be transformed
into the scientist engaged in research."’

The task, logically consistent with the idea of the world as a secular
phenomenon, of understanding and mastering the scientifically open
cosmic order, received lasting stimulus and acceleration from the French
Revolution. From the American War of Independence onwards, it
appeared obvious that freely made human decisions and rational actions
based on sound knowledge could improve the world. Humanity seemed
capable of deciphering by scientific study the nature of the world and of
the human race. The faith in progress based on scientific knowledge
became stronger until, in the nineteenth century, it became a
euphorically confident faith in science.

Needless to say, this faith in reason, indeed this idolatry of rationality,
was confronted by counter-forces. It is important to note in this connec-
tion that most of these strivings and aspirations were hostile to theologi-
cal orthodoxy, to a powerful ecclesiastical hierarchy, to the guild-like
monopolies of scientific knowledge and to a rigidly status-bound society.
This opposition was shared by cosmopolitan deism, Pietism, Jansenism,
aesthetic individualism and the cult of genius. Pre-Romanticism and
non-rational, early historicism, each in its own way reinforced the criti-
cal tendencies of the age and paved the way for a reassessment of the
contents and methods of the sciences. In the eighteenth century, it did
not seem significant that these different currents of thought were already
beginning to break out of the world view of the Enlightenment. Together
they were eroding existing educational ideals and forcing them, and the
institutions in which they were embodied, to change.

DIFFERENTIATION OF UNIVERSITY PATTERNS AND ACADEMIC
REFORMS

The patriotism and particularism which coexisted with cosmopolitanism
in the Enlightenment of the eighteenth century fostered the process of
differentiation among the various European university patterns which
had been going on from early modern times. Despite the common fea-
tures of the sciences and the continent-wide predominance of certain
academic theories and methods, and of particular methods of teaching,
these different universities continued to develop in distinctive ways and
yet, at the same time, they became no more than variants of a common
European university pattern. This development was inherent in the
rationale of their own practice and outlook.

" P, Moraw, ‘Aspekte und Dimensionen 4lterer deutscher Universitatsgeschichte’, in P.

Moraw and V. Press (eds.), Academia Gissensis. Beitrage zur dlteren Giessener Universi-
tdtsgeschichte (Marburg, 1982), 1-44.

630

The Enlightenment

There was a marked divergence in the situation of the French univer-
sities on the one hand, and those of the universities of the Holy Roman
Empire of the German nation, the Netherlands and the north European
societies on the other. In addition to this, Oxford and Cambridge per-
sisted in their characteristic pattern as collegiate universities without fac-
ulties of law and with the aim of remaining institutions for the education
of prospective clergymen.'* Meanwhile, the Scottish universities worked
in the spirit of the Enlightenment.’? In the Mediterranean area, the
Enlightenment took a different form and led to reforms or attempts at
reform which changed the nature of education in those countries. In the
Iberian peninsula, the French model of an Enlightenment society was
followed,'* while in Italy’? - as also in Russia, at the University of
Moscow’* — the reforming pattern of the Netherlands and German uni-
versities was adopted. The filogiansenismo — connected with the Cath-
olicism\of the Italian Reformation — left an imprint; so did the direct
influence of the non-Italian states.

A brief summary review might be helpful in the delineation of the
various European university patterns.

In France in the eighteenth century, the university ceased to have any
marked influence on the intellectual life of French society and the course
of enlightened discussion there.'” The faculties of arts, under the influ-
ence of the Jesuitical Counter-Reformation, had been reduced to being
nothing more than diploma-granting institutions. The colléges — all con-
ducted by the church or the Orders — took seriously their propaedeutic
task but they became ossified and did not make room for the developing
scientific disciplines. Enlightened discussions took place only in the
salons and in the academies which sprang up everywhere. The desolate
state of the universities and colleges which remained fixed in the per-
formance of a socially purely self-reproductive training function, called
forth, from the middle of the century, increasingly vehement criticism
which also demanded reforms. D’Alembert’s article on ‘Collége’ in the

2 History of Oxford V.

3A. Chitnis, The Scottish Enlightenment (London, 1976); N. T. Phillipson, ‘The Pursuit
of Virtue in Scottish University Education’, in N. T. Phillipson (ed.), Universities, Society
and the Future (Edinburgh, 1983), 82-105.

4 J. Sarrailh, L’Espagne éclairée de la seconde moitié du XVIIIe siécle (Paris, 1954); R.
Herr, The Eighteenth-Century Revolution in Spain (Princeton, N. J., 1953).

15M. Fubini (ed.), La cultura illuministica in Italia, 2nd edn (Turin, 1964); A. Wand-
ruszka, Leopold II, 2 vols. (Vienna/Munich, 1963-5); F. Venturi, Settecento riformatore
(Turin, 1969).

© G. A. Novick, ‘L’origine de l’enseignement supérieur en Russie et la fondation de |’Uni-
versité de Moscou’, in Universités européennes, 160-8.

” Chartier, Education en France, esp. 207ff.; L. W. B. Brockliss, ‘Le contenu de |’enseigne-
ment et la diffusion des idées nouvelles’, in Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 199-
260.

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Encyclopédie was only one of many publications which were unquali-
fiedly condemnatory and at the same time demanded fundamental
reforms. In modern foreign languages, natural sciences, history, better
methods of instruction were demanded, as was the infusion of vitality
into the universities.

Although the number of publications demanding educational refOrm
grew fivefold after the beginning of the century, neither the court nor
the church showed any interest. Improvement along the lines required
by the Enlightenment was not undertaken; even Turgot’s attempt to
introduce reforms made no progress. It is true that the dissolution of
the Jesuit Order in 1752 raised serious problems fOr French education
and hence for attendance at universities. The state did not, however,
take over the tasks which the Jesuits had been performing — and for
which indeed it lacked the necessary qualities and skills. Instead, it
turned their tasks over to other Orders, like the Oratorians or the
Benedictines.

It is not surprising that the enlightened French public more and more
regarded the universities as superfluous, apart from the opportunity and
the need for certification which they met. Specialized institutions like
the Académie d’agriculture, the Académie de chirurgie, the Académie
des sciences — reformed in 1701 — the Académie de médicine, were the
only institutions in which there were scientific advances as well as appro-
priate training and enlightening activities. These functions were per-
formed by the numerous academies in the provinces, the Freemasons’
lodges, the Parisian salons and, in the 1780s, the new lycées and
museums. The court had long ceased to offer a model for intellectual
activity; ideas were much more influenced by a society which contained
both aristocratic and bourgeois elements.’®

It was only after the Revolution that, under La Chalotais, instruction
publique was decreed — with little success — and that the hitherto prevail-
ing educational system was abolished. In 1793, a decree of the Conven-
tion abolished the académies and sociétés. Not long after that, the
Directoire — following the ideas and preparation of the Thermidorians
of the 3 Brumaire of Year IV (23 October 1795) — established the Institut
national des sciences et arts. With its three classes — a political-
mathematical class, a class for literature and the fine arts, and a third
class for moral and political science — it was to be of central importance
for training, diffusing and advancing a civilly enlightened but not really
egalitarian conception of science. Education and training were to be
entirely secular; it was successful in this respect. The ecclesiastical mon-

8 J. Voss, Geschichte Frankreichs, vol. 1 (Munich, 1980), 151-67; Roche, Le Siécle des
Lumieres.

642

The Enlightenment

opoly appeared to have come to an end although, as soon became mani-
fest in connection with the colléges, the underlying intention could not
be realized.’’

The reorganization of university education by Napoleon — which we
do not deal with here — assigned only limited scientific significance to
the higher educational institutions envisaged by the decree. They were
to offer training for certain specified professions. Genuine science and
higher education were to be provided for in specialized institutions.
Napoleon, in prescribing this policy, did something to meet the long-
standing demands of the proponents of the Enlightenment. The principle
of specialized training — following a more general preliminary edu-
cation — was to that extent realized. The steady decline of the French
universities from the seventeenth century onwards — only certain insti-
tutions and disciplines like medicine in Paris and Montpellier were
exceptions — had led almost inevitably to this solution.

The course of development in the Holy Roman Empire of the German
nation ran in quite a different direction. The universities retained their
central position in the intellectual life of their respective societies.
Towards the end of the seventeenth century, the first efforts to reform
higher education in accordance with ideas of the Enlightenment and cer-
tain enlightened principles were being successfully realized —- we should
refer above all to Christian Thomasius and the University of Halle. The
movement then spread to the other universities. The University of Gét-
tingen, founded in 1737, became a model even for the Catholic Church
in its treatment of the sciences of the Enlightenment and in its conduct
of open intellectual discussion. (The problem arising from the dissol-
ution of the Jesuit Order was how to establish the new constitution of
scientific knowledge.) For the first time since the Reformation, learned
men, intellectuals, and academically trained persons in the Holy Roman
Empire could speak to each other in a single language. Once this hap-
pened, the separation of the churches ceased to be especially important.”°

In the universities, an enlightened, methodologically modernized juris-
prudence dominated the constitution of scientific knowledge. All the fac-
ulties and bodies of scientific knowledge, including theology, learned
from the achievements of jurisprudence. These faculties, including the-

19 V. Karady, ‘De Napoléon a Duruy’, in Verger (ed.), Universités en France, 261-366.

20 Hammerstein, ‘Zur Geschichte und Bedeutung’ (note 7); McClelland, State, Society and
University, 34-98; N. Hammerstein, ‘Universitaten und gelehrte Institutionen von der
Aufklarung zum Neuhumanismus und Idealismus’, in G. Mann and F. Dumont (eds.),
Samuel Thomas Soemmerring und die Gelehrten der Goethe-zeit, Soemmerring For-
schungen 1 (Stuttgart/New York, 1985), 309-29; N. Hammerstein, Aufklarung und
katholisches Reich. Untersuchungen zur Universitatsreform und Politik katholischer
Territorien des Heiligen Romischen Reichs deutscher Nation im 18. Jahrhundert, Histo-
rische Forschungen, 12 (Berlin, 1977).

633

Notker Hammerstein

ology, modernized themselves in accordance with the ideas of the
Enlightenment, which led, in the Holy Roman Empire, to a markedly
historical approach; the new approach gained the participation and co-
operation of all the faculties and brought them into a common and gen-
eral discussion. These faculties were much less hostile to theology than
their French colleagues were. The theologians played an important part
in these discussions. In this way they modernized their discipline and
the enlightened professors contributed to the secularization of their uni-
versities and their subjects. They were acknowledged to have achieved
the leading intellectual role. Of course, in the Holy Roman Empire too,
there arose ‘patriotic’, ‘ethical-economic’ societies, ‘societies for useful
knowledge’ and ‘academies’. There were the Masons and secret societies
but they pursued ends and acted in ways which had already been adum-
brated in the reformed universities. They were by no means in disaccord
with the universities: in many university towns, such persons were in
far-reaching agreement with the academics. Local and regional particu-
larity, which for a long time had been an integral feature of the Holy
Roman Empire, was not at all in disharmony with the cosmopolitanism
of the Enlightenment. German classicism, German idealism and even
Romanticism inherited a more pronounced legacy of cosmopolitanism
than was characteristic of the intellectual situation in other European
countries at that time.

In the universities from the 1780s onward, where, as before, the total
cosmos of scientific and scholarly knowledge was divided up among the
faculties, intellectual discussions within the disciplines strengthened the
philosophical faculty and its constituent disciplines. The latter now
emerged as the equal of the previously ‘higher’ faculties; indeed the
philosophical faculty claimed —- ultimately successfully — that it was the
conceptual and methodological prerequisite of the other foundations.
Even when the centre of gravity lay in the historical and philological
disciplines and in an ‘idealistic’ philosophy, that did not really prevent
the disciplines of the qguadrivium — the natural sciences, their substance
and methods — from accepting influences which they worked out in their
own ways.” In the Netherlands, where the universities performed a func-
tion similar to that performed in the Holy Roman Empire, this part of
the reforms was also successful.”

It was characteristic of most of the successful reforms that they
originated in the Protestant parts of the Holy Roman Empire; they
were often the products of a collaboration of professors and princely

71_N. Hammerstein, ‘Die deutschen Universitaten im Zeitalter der Aufklarung’, Zeitschrift
fiir historische Forschung, 10 (1983), 73-89; L. Hammermayer, Geschichte der baye-
rischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, vol. 1, 2nd edn (Munich, 1983).

2 Frijhoff, Gradués.

634

The Enlightenment

counsellors who had themselves received their education at a university.
The reforms were thus largely of internal academic origin. Their adop-
tion by the Roman Catholic institutions resulted generally from the
insistence of a few professors but more from the actions of the territorial
governments, the counsellors of the princes and the princes themselves.
As a result, they gave precedence to the concerns of the state rather than
to those of the church. But if the necessary improvements in those more
or less retrograde public institutions were to be successful, it was logical
that the cameralistic sciences should play a prominent role as ‘reform-
disciplines’. This was true in many respects for the situation in other
Roman Catholic countries; it was true also of Russia. The princes, in
order to bring their societies up to the contemporary standard, had to
rely on professional training as the path to their goal. The intellectually
leading role of the universities in the Holy Roman Empire was partly a
result of the fact that it was a state without a capital; it had no intellec-
tual centre which could — through salons or academies or a court —
supply a persuasive model. This situation in the Empire was, from 1760,
increasingly deplored. A change in the degraded status of the studiosi
in theology and philosophy was called for. Vehement criticism of the
aristocracy accompanied these complaints. They aimed mainly at the
establishment for former students of the philosophical and the Protestant
theological faculties of a status equal to that enjoyed by former students
of the faculty of law, and thus to gain for them the right to public
appointment. After the reorganization of the universities, in emulation
of the new University of Berlin, this sense of dissatisfaction was trans-
formed into feelings and gestures of superiority on the part of graduates
and students of the philosophical faculty.”°

The tendency of the Enlightenment to favour specialized colleges over
universities did not on the whole succeed in winning the advocacy of
the responsible authorities in Germany, the Netherlands or the north
European countries. It is true that the Pépiniére and the mining academy
in Berlin, the Maria-Theresianum and the veterinary school in Vienna
and the Kameral-Institut in Munich are evidence that support for the
universities was not universal or unanimous. Nevertheless, even the
reformist Wednesday Society, i.e., the circle of reformers in Berlin
devoted to the principles of the Enlightenment, on the occasion of dis-
cussion on the problems (mostly during 1795), declared itself opposed
to the ‘abolition or the total transformation’ of the universities. The

23 U. Muhlack, ‘Die Universitaten im Zeichen von Neuhumanismus und Idealismus:
Berlin’, in P. Baumgart and N. Hammerstein (eds.), Beitrdge zu Problemen deutscher
Universitatsgriindungen der friihen Neuzeit, Wolfenbiitteler Forschungen, 4 (Nendeln/
Liechtenstein, 1978), 299-340; T. Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte 1800-1866. Biir-
gerwelt und starker Staat (Munich, 1983), 470-82.

635

Notker Hammerstein

division of the university into faculties, old and ‘monkish’ though they
were, was, it was argued, the best ordering of the disciplines. Only
reforms, not fundamental changes, made sense.

In Spain as well as in Portugal, reforms of the universities along the
lines of the principles of the Enlightenment were decreed by the crown
or its responsible minister. The reforms were pronouncedly anti-
ecclesiastical and anti-Jesuit; they were not concerned only with assuring
the dominance of the state in all public matters. They were no less con-
cerned with relieving the desolate situation of the universities. These had
sunk to the level of training colleges and institutions for the preparation
of professional practitioners. Nothing was left of those few disciplines
which in the seventeenth century had played a significant role. Although
they were dominated by theology and theologians, and lacked utterly
any intellectual force in their theological work, the rigid professors and
institutions blocked every attempted change, while continuing to provide
traditional training, which had long since become out of date.

It was primarily Charles III (1759-88), who had already become
acquainted with enlightened ideas in Naples and had tried to give effect
to them through his minister Bernardo Tanucci, who attempted to reor-
ganize the universities.** The responsibility of the crown which had been
agreed in the concordat of 1753 and the expulsion of the Jesuits both
provided propitious conditions for the reforms. From these reforms
onwards, each university was to have all four faculties. The faculty of
law was particularly favoured and was assigned the task of realizing the
ideals of the French Enlightenment, which were regarded as presenting
the right pattern for all efforts at reform. The reforms had been decreed
from above but they gained little voluntary support from the inad-
equately educated professors. As a result, the reforms were only super-
ficial. Nevertheless, there resulted from them an institutional framework
which in the nineteenth century could be filled with content. There
spread among the intellectuals and in parts of the upper class a franco-
phile anticlerical attitude. It was, however, by no means widespread
enough or deep enough to provide a setting capable of bringing to
maturity and enduring effectiveness the two short decades of reforming
activity. Still, the numerous provincial academies did set in motion
improvements in agriculture and technology. Supported by Freemasons
and secret societies, these provincial academics reinforced the flanks of
the enlightened efforts of the reformers, just as they did in other

4 E. Passerin d’Entréves, L’Italia nell’eta delle riforme 1748-96, 2nd edn (Turin, 1965);
G. Procacci, Geschichte Italiens und der Italiener (Munich, 1983), 186-219; A.
Omodeo, Die Erneuerung Italiens und die Geschichte Europas (Ziirich, 1951); R. Lill,
Geschichte Italiens vom 16. Jahrhundert zu den Anfangen des Faschismus, 2nd edn
(Darmstadt, 1987), 31-60.

636

The Enlightenment

European societies. They came up against the limits which were imposed
by the distribution of property and the social institutions which lay para-
lysed in the grip of uncritically accepted traditions.

Even more emphatically than in Spain, the outstanding Portuguese
minister, the marquis of Pombal, tried to decree from above the enlight-
enment and progress of his country. Joseph I gave him a free hand when
Pombal declared war on the Jesuits, a war which had consequences for
the whole of Europe. Twelve years after Joseph I acceded to the throne,
Pombal began to withdraw from the Jesuits their educational preroga-
tives; he wished to base education on secular principles, inspired by the
French Enlightenment. The University of Evora founded by the Jesuits
in the Counter-Reformation was abolished and Coimbra was made into
the national university, to be conducted according to the principles of
the Enlightenment. Coimbra was granted its statutes in 1777: an end of
scholasticism was decreed thereby, as was also a redirection of the sci-
ences towards empiricism and practical application. Portugal seemed to
be in the vanguard of the enlightened Catholic societies. Enlightenment
was taught; it was eagerly taken up in the New World and carried
further there.”> (This all happened well before the reforms of the univer-
sity in France in the early nineteenth century.)

The Scottish universities were and remained very different from the
continental universities in their formal organization; for one thing, they
did not take over the division into faculties from the continental univer-
sities. Nevertheless, their teaching and textbooks were influential in
many of the societies which participated in the European Enlightenment
and they also had a very pronounced influence on teaching and training
in the United States. The Scottish ascendancy petered out in the nine-
teenth century. The Scottish universities succumbed to intellectual crises
and to crises in their ability to appoint teachers of outstanding gifts.
Scotland moved out towards the intellectual periphery of Europe.

The universities throughout Europe, in the second half of the eight-
eenth century, had freed themselves from the ascendancy of the theologi-
cal faculty. This went hand in hand with their desire to teach useful,
practical, applicable kinds of knowledge. This could lead, as it did soon
in France, to emphases on training for specialized professions. It could
also lead to the adoption of new disciplines and to changes in those
already being taught and studied in the universities. In any case, the
methodological and substantive understanding of science and scholar-
ship itself changed, and with it the conduct and the self-understanding
of those who cultivated science and scholarship likewise changed.

2° B. Romano, L’espulsione dei Gesuiti dal Portogallo (Citta di Castello, 1914); A. Ferrdo,
O marqués de Pombal e as reformas dos estudos menores (Coimbra, 1915).

637

Notker Hammerstein

A coup d’ceil at the various European universities produces a very
variegated picture. In a certain way, France adhered more completely
to the ideas of the Enlightenment with respect to training, universities,
academies and other higher educational institutions than did other
countries. During the French occupation of parts of Europe by Napo-
leon, some of the occupied countries such as Belgium and the Nether-
lands took over the French model but without in all cases retaining it
very long.

The reforms of the Enlightenment in Spain, Portugal and Russia led
to no enduring vitality in the universities. As soon as the pressure from
above was relaxed, after the events which followed the French Revol-
ution, the zeal for reform dissipated. The universities then for the most
part retained what had been passed on to them in the shape of estab-
lished scientific and scholarly propositions, to which they added nothing
and changed little. They remained bound to their old traditions and
immobile; they became nothing more than mere training institutions.

There were many hopeful beginnings of a renewal of certain disci-
plines at Oxford and Cambridge, and there was a stirring of public dis-
cussion of university reform, but the English universities remained quite
faithful to their earlier pattern of organization and their earlier under-
standing of the nature and methods of science. Fundamentally, they
clung to their old traditions.

In Italy, in contrast, at certain universities in certain of the Italian
states, deep and enduring reforms occurred, releasing new energy into
scientific and scholarly work. They anticipated.in their own way the
broader movements towards a more comprehensive social and intellec-
tual vitality and national unity in the Italian peninsula. In Poland, too,
it appeared that comparable consequences of an upward intellectual
movement would follow from the reforms in university education and
training. The division of the country into many separate states put a
stop, however, to these efforts.”°

The Scottish universities, particularly the University of Edinburgh,
experienced a powerful upsurge with widely ramified effects. Certain
ideas of the Enlightenment, certain conceptions of science and tech-
nology appear in Scotland in their most fertile form. But unlike the
universities of the Holy Roman Empire, this renewal of the universities
in Scotland could not be maintained.

What happened at Halle and Gottingen and the university reforms
which followed them in the German-speaking countries could be

6 Jobert, La Commission d’éducation nationale en Pologne, 1773-94 (Paris, 1941); M.
Ciésla, ‘Die polnische Hochschulreform der siebziger und achtziger Jahre des 18.
Jahrhunderts’, in Amburger et al. (eds.), Wissenschaftspolitik (note 6), 348-58; B. Lés-
nodorski, ‘Les universités au siécle des Lumiéres’, in Universités européennes, 143-59.

638

The Enlightenment

continued, after the French Revolution and the challenge of the Napo-
leonic age, by important innovations that in many respects established
a new model for university education and training and for the practice
of academic science and scholarship. It was a model which was capable
of extension and elaboration. Although the reforms embodied in the
University of Berlin were original in their emphasis and indeed presented
a new understanding of research, scientific progress and the value of
science in the broadest sense, they built on a foundation of earlier devel-
opments, theories and techniques. It then became evident that universit-
les were appropriate sites for the sciences and for scholarship, for provid-
ing the intellectual foundation for the confidence of the modern state in
its legitimacy and its capacities, and for the education and training
needed by modern societies.

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY

Alvarez Morales, A. La ilustracion y la reforma de la universidad en la Espanta
del siglo XVIII, Madrid, 1971.

Amburger, E., Ciésla, M. and Sziklay, L. (eds.) Wissenschaftspolitik in Mittel-
und Osteuropa. Wissenschaftliche Gesellschaften, Akademien und Hoch-
schulen im 18. und beginnenden 19. Jahrhundert, Berlin, 1976, 1-84.

Boehm, L. ‘Wilhelm von Humboldt (1767-1835) and the University: Idea and
Implementation’, CRE-Information, 62 (1983), 89-105.

Brockliss, L. W. B. French Higher Education in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
Centuries. A Cultural History, Oxford, 1987.

Chartier, R., Compére, M.-M. and Julia, D. L’Education en France du XVIe au
XVIIIe siécle, Paris, 1976.

Donnert, E. La Russie au siécle des Lumiéres, Leipzig, 1986.

Hammerstein, N. Aufkiarung und katholisches Reich. Untersuchungen zur
Universitatsreform und Politik katholischer Territorien des Heiligen Ro-
mischen Reichs deutscher Nation im 18. Jahrhundert, Historische For-
schungen, 12, Berlin, 1977.

Hammerstein, N. ‘Universitaten und gelehrte Institutionen von der Aufklarung
zum Neuhumanismus und Idealismus’, in G. Mann and F. Dumont (eds.),
Samuel Thomas Soemmerring und die Gelehrten der Goethe-Zeit, Soemmer-
ring-Forschungen, 1, Stuttgart/New York, 1985, 309-29.

Kulczykowski, M. (ed.) Les Grandes Réformes des universités européennes du
XVIle au XXe siécles. IIléme Session scientifique internationale, Cracovie, 15—-
17 mai 1980, Zeszyty Naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellonskiego DCCLXI. Prace
Historyczne, Z. 79, Warsaw/Cracow, 1985.

Lésnodorski, B. ‘Les universités aux siécle des Lumiéres’, in Les Universités euro-
péennes du XIVe au XVIlIle siécle. Aspects et probleémes, Geneva, 1967, 143-

59-
McClelland, C. E. State, Society and University in Germany 1700-1914, Cam-
bridge, 1980.

639

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McClellan III, J. E. Science Reorganized: Scientific Societies in the Eighteenth
Century, New York, 1985.

Plaschka, R. G. and Klingenstein, G. (eds.) Osterreich im Europa der Aufkla-
rung, 2 vols., Vienna, 1985.

Plaschka, R. G. and Mack, K. (eds.) Wegenetz europdischen Geistes. Wissen-
schaftszentren und geistige Wechselbeziehungen zwischen Mittel- und
Siidosteuropa vom Ende des 18. Jahrhundert bis zum Ersten Weltkrieg, Schrif-
tenreihe des 6sterreichischen Ost- und Sédosteuropa-Instituts, 8, Munich,
1983.

Roche, D. Le Siécle des Lumiéres en province. Académies et académiciens pro-
vinciaux 1680-1789, 2 vols., The Hague/Paris, 1978.

Taton, R. (ed.) Enseignement et diffusion des sciences en France au XVIIIe
siécle, Histoire de la Pensée, 9, Paris, 1964; reprint Paris, 1986.

Verger, J. (ed.) Histoire des universités en France, Toulouse, 1986.

640

EDITOR’S NOTE ON
THE INDEXES

For practical reasons, the index has been divided into two parts: a list of names of persons,
and an index of geographical places and subjects.

The first index contains the names of all the persons mentioned in the volume. In this
volume on the early modern period, the alphabetical order used is, in almost all cases, the
family name rather than the Christian or given name. It means that for most of the medie-
val scholars and personalities as well as for the humanists who are usually better known
under their patronymic, the name that features in the alphabetical list is the family name.
Cross-references make it easy to find the appropriate entry. Variants of the name are shown
in brackets after the entry concerned. Authors’ works have not been included in the
indexes.

The geographical and subject index has been carefully edited. In other words, the various
subjects which appear in the text are not necessarily reproduced as such or under a place-
name in the index. Instead, we have preferred to group entries under a more general head-
ing, and we have included only subjects which are directly relevant to the history of univer-
sities. Place-names are given in the English form, when this exists, followed by the
(modern) country and administrative subdivision (county, Land, province, département,
kraj, etc.). For the sake of historical accuracy, the name commonly used at the time is
listed. The present place-name or other variants are shown in brackets after the entry
concerned.

For all references to individual persons, the reader should consult the name index. In
some cases, however, it is also necessary to look to the subject index, as, for instance, for
notions such as Aristotelianism, Ramism, Calvinism, Cartesianism, Newtonianism, etc.
Wherever possible, people have been identified and places located.

The two indexes have been compiled with the help of Johan Hanselaer in Ghent. We
are most grateful to him for his diligent work and his attention to detail.

641

NAME INDEX

Acosta, José de (1535-1600), Spanish
Jesuit naturalist and missionary in Peru
and Mexico, author, 21

Acquapendente, see Fabricius ab
Aquapendente, Hieronymus

Agnesi, Maria Gaetana (1718-99), Italian
female mathematician, professor at
Bologna, 296

Agricola, Georgius (Georg Bauer) (1494-
1555), German scientist and physician,
mineralogist, medical practitioner, 467

Agricola, Rudolph (Roelof Huysman)
(1443-85), Dutch humanist, 35, 461,
582

Agrippa von Nettesheim, see Nettesheim,
Agrippa von

Aguesseau, Henri Francois d’
(Daguesseau) (1668-1751), French
statesman, chancellor of Louis XV, 606

Alba, Antonio Alvarez de Toledo, duke of
(Alva) (d. 1639), Spain’s viceroy in
Naples 1622-9, 229

Alberti, Leon Battista (1404-72), Italian
architect and humanist, 18

Albinus, Bernard Siegfried (1697-1770),
German anatomist, professor at Leiden,

544

Albrecht of Austria (1559-1621),
archduke of Austria, sovereign of the
Southern Netherlands, 145, 165

Alciatus, Andreas (1492-1550), Italian
legal humanist and professor at
Bologna, Bourges and Milan, 34, 234,
238, 417, 607, 616

Aldrovandi, Ulisse (1522-1605), Italian
scientist and botanist, professor at
Bologna, 22, 543-4

Aldus, see Manutius

Aleman, Mateo (1559-1602), Spanish
novelist, 395

Alembert, Jean Le Rond d’ (1717-83),
French author, philosopher and
mathematician, 500, 539, 555, 630

Alexander of Villedieu (c. 1170-c. 1250),
French grammarian, 11, 571

Alfonso V the African (1432-81),
Portuguese king, 17

Alhazen (Abu-Ali Al-Hasan ibn
al-Haitham) (965-1038), Muslim
scientist, 549

Alsted, Johann Heinrich (1588-1638),
German philosopher and theologian,
professor at Herborn, 500, 524

Althusius, Johannes (1557-1638),
German jurist, professor at Herborn,

_ 5135 514

Alvarez de Toledo, Antonio, see Alba,
Antonio

Amerbach, Bonifaz (1495-1562), Swiss
jurist, professor at Basle and consultant
to the city, 244

Amoretti, Maria Pellegrina (graduation
1777), Italian female graduate in law at
Pavia, 297

Anderson, Mrs (fl. late 17th c.), the
Printer to the College of Edinburgh,
203

Anghiera, Pietro Martire d’, see Martire
d’Anghiera, Pietro

Apel, Johann (1486-1536), German jurist,
professor at Wittenberg, 244

Apezteguia, Juan Angelo de (fl. late 17th
c.), Spanish jurist, professor at Pavia,

233

642

Name index

Apianus, Petrus (Peter Apian) (1495-
1552), German cartographer and
mathematician, professor at Ingolstadt,
20

Apollonius Pergaeus (of Perga) (c. 262-
c. 190 BC), mathematician from Asia
Minor, 217

Aquinas, Thomas, see Thomas Aquinas

Archimedes (287-212 BC), Greek
mathematician and inventor, 217

Aripts, Philippe (zoth c.), French historian,
160

Aristotle (384-322 BC), Greek
philosopher, 10-11, 28, 30, 43, 116,
133-4, 137, 340, 344, 468, 470, 490-
4, SOI-2, S10, §22, §$31-S, $49-53;5
556, 566, 569, 578-87, 592, 602,
613-14

Arnauld, Antoine (1612-94), French
theologian, 495

Arndt, Johan (1555-1621), German
Lutheran mystic, 508

Arnold, Gottfried (1666-1714), German
Lutheran church historian, 508

Arouet, see Voltaire

Aselli, Gaspare (Asellio) (c. 1581-1626?),
Italian medical doctor, professor at
Pavia, 544

Asellio, see Aselli

Ashby, E. (2zoth c.), historian, 533, 545

Augustine (354-430), saint, church father,
20

Augustus III, Stanislas (1696-1763), king
of Poland, 321

Aurelius, Cornelius (c. 1460-1531),
Dutch humanist churchman, 33

Aventinus, Johannes (Johann Turmaier)
(1477-1534), German humanist, 571

Avezan, Jean d’ (d. 1669), French jurist,
professor at Orléans and Paris, 241

Avicenna (al-Husain b. Abdallah Ibn
Sina) (980-1037), Muslim philosopher
and scientist, 531

Aylmer, Gerald (20th c.), English
historian, 185

Aytta, see Viglius

Bachelard, G. (zoth c.), historian, 541

Bacon, Francis (1561-1626), English
philosopher, scientist and statesman,
6-7, 16-17, 45, 483, 500, 521, 532,
536-7, 543, 548, 551, $53, 581

Baduel, Claude (1491-1561), French
humanist and educationalist, 66

Baerle, Caspar van, see Barlaeus, Caspar

Baglivi, Giorgio (1668-1707), Italian
scientist, professor at the Sapienza in
Rome, 613-14

Baldus de Ubaldis (1327-1400), Italian
legal post-glossator, 222

Barbay, Pierre (d. 1667), French scientist,
professor of philosophy at Paris, 582-3

Bardelli, family, professors at Tiibingen
(16th-17th c.), 228

Barlaeus, Caspar (van Baerle) (1584-
1648), Dutch humanist, professor at the
Illustrious School at Amsterdam, 78,
380

Barrow, Isaac (1630-77), English
mathematician and classical scholar,
543-4, 546

Barthez, Paul Joseph (1734-1806), French
medical doctor, professor at
Montpellier, 614

Bartholin, Erasmus (1625-98), Danish
medical doctor, mathematician,
physicist, professor at Copenhagen,
543-

Bartholin family, professors at
Copenhagen (17th-18th c.), 227

Bartolus de Saxoferrato (1313/4-57),
Italian legal post-glossator, 222, 368,
607

Bassi, Laura (graduation 1732), Italian
female graduate in philosophy at
Bologna, 296

Bathory, Stephen Istvan (1533-86), prince
of Transylvania, king of Poland, 48

Bauer, Georg, see Agricola, Georgius

Bauhin, Gaspar (1550-1624), French-
Swiss physician, anatomist and
botanist, professor at Basle, 470

Bauhin, Jean (1541-1613), French-Swiss
physician and botanist, professor of
rhetoric at Basle, medical practitioner,
470

Bayer, Gottlieb Siegfried (1694-1738),
German historian and specialist in
Antiquity, professor at St Petersburg,
231

Bayle, Pierre (1647-1706), French
philosopher, historian and critic,
professor at Rotterdam, 16

Beaufort, Margaret (1443-1509), countess
of Richmond and Derby, mother of
King Henry VII, patroness of Oxford
and Cambridge Universities, 211, 220,
462

Becanus, Johannes (Goropius Becanus,
Jan van Gorp) (1518-72), Southern
Netherlands humanist and linguist, 33

Becher, Johann Joachim (163 5-82),
German cameralist, 516

Beckenstein, Johan Simon (1684-1742),
German jurist, professor at St
Petersburg, 231

643

Name index

Beckman, Johann Christoph (1641-1717),
German historian, professor at
Frankfurt-on-Oder, 199

Bedell, William (1571-1642), bishop of
Kilmore and Ardagh, 166

Bellarmino, Roberto (1542-1621), Italian
saint, theologian and cardinal, 506

Ben-David, Joseph (20th c.), historian,

559

Benedetti, Giovanni Battista (1530-90),
Italian mathematician, 467

Benedict XIV (Prospero Lambertini)
(1675-1758), pope, 296, 308

Bentley, Richard (1662-1742), English
classical scholar and theologian, active
at Cambridge and Oxford, 525, 574

Bernal, J. D. (zoth c.), historian, 533, 543

Bernard of Chartres (d. c. 1130),
schoolmaster at Chartres, 7

Bernegger, Matthias (1582-1640),
German, political philosopher,
professor at Strasburg, 27, 576

Bernoulli family, Swiss merchant family
with several mathematicians and
physicians (17th—-18th c.), 543-5, 554

Bernoulli, James (1654-1705), Swiss
mathematician, professor at Basle,
543-5

Bernoulli, John (1667-1748), Swiss
mathematician, professor at Groningen
and Basle, 543-5

Bernoulli, Nicolas (1687-1759), Swiss
mathematician, professor at Padua and
Basle, 543-5

Besoigne, JérGme (1686-1763), French
scientist, professor at Paris, 592

Bessarion, John (1403-72), Byzantine
humanist and theologian, archbishop of
Nicaea, cardinal, 471

Béze, Théodore de (1519-1605), French
theologian and humanist, religious
reformer, 476, 502, 513

Bezold, Christoph (1577-1638), German
Lutheran mystic, professor at Munich,
508

Bilderdijk, Willem (1756-1831), Dutch
poet and novelist, 428

Bilmark, Johan (1728-1801), Swedish
scholar, professor at Abo, 237

Biringuccio, Vanoccio (1480-c. 1539),
Italian metallurgist, 543

Black, Joseph (1728-99), British chemist
and physicist, professor at Edinburgh,
248, 546, 611

Blair, James (1656-1743), Scottish
clergyman and founder of the College
of William and Mary, 273, 277

Bobadilla, see Castillo de Bobadilla,
Jeronimus

Bochard, Samuel (Bochart) (1599-1667),
French philologist, orientalist and
pastor of the Reformed church, 525

Bodenstein, Andreas Rudolf, see
Karlstadt, Andreas Rudolf

Bodin, Jean (1530-96), French jurist,
political thinker and professor at
Toulouse, statesman, 21, 499, 510,
512, 520

Bodley Thomas (1545-1613), English
scholar, founder of the university
library at Oxford, 196-7, 199

Boeckh, August (1785-1867), German
philologist, professor at Berlin, 41

Boehme, Jakob (BOhm, Behmer) (1575-
1624), German philosophical
theologian, mystic, Christian cabalist,
496, 508

Boerhaave, Herman (1668-1738), Dutch
physician, professor at Leiden, 46, 402,
435, 437-8, 445, 543-6, 559, 611, 616

Boineburg, Philipp Wilhelm (1656-1717),
German count, diplomat and
stadtholder of Erfurt, 196

Boissier de Sauvages, Francois (1706-67),
French physician, professor at
Montpellier, 615

Bonaparte, see Napoleon Bonaparte

Bonaventura (John of Fidanza) (c. 1217-
74), Italian saint, Franciscan theologian,
professor at Paris, 495

Bonnot, see Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de

Borelli, Giovanni Alfonso (1608-79),
Italian physiologist and physicist,
professor at Messina, 538, 544

Borromeo, Carlo (Carolus Borromaeus)
(1538-84), Italian cardinal and
archbishop of Milan, 161, 191

Borromeo, Federico (Fredericus
Borromaeus) (1564-1631), archbishop
of Milan, 191

Boucher d’Argis, Antoine Gaspard (1708-
91), French jurisconsultant, 604

Bourbon, House of, kings of France from
1589 and of Spain from 1700 onwards,
137-3075. 322; 373

Bourdieu, Pierre (20th c.), French
sociologue, 394

Bovier, see Fontenelle, Bernard Le Bovier
de

Boyle, Robert (1627-91), Anglo-Irish
chemist and natural philosopher,
member of the Royal Academy, 46,

500, §38, 543, 547-8

644

Name index

Bracciolini, Poggio (1380-1459), Italian
humanist, 15

Bracton, Henry de (d. 1268), English
jurist, 456

Bradley, James (1693-1762), English
astronomer, professor at Oxford, 544

Braganza (Braganga), House of,
Portuguese kings from 1640 onwards,

133

Brahe, Tycho (1546-1601), Danish
astronomer and mathematician, 471-2,
531, 543-4, 557» 559s 583, 592

Brant, Sebastian (1457-1521), German
humanist, author, professor at Basle, 19

Brassavola, Antonio Musa (1500-70),
Italian physician, professor at Padua,
546

Brockliss, Laurence (zoth c.), English
historian, 534

Bronchorst, Everard (15 54-1627), Dutch
jurist, professor at Leiden and
Marburg, 369, 600

Browne, Thomas (1605-82), English
medical doctor and miscellaneous
author, 404

Brunelleschi, Filippo (1377-1446), Italian
engineer and architect, 17, 467

Brunfels, Otto (c. 1488-1534), German
botanist and author, 470

Bruni, Leonardo (1370-1444), Italian
humanist, historian, chancellor of
Florence University, 30

Bruno, Giordano (1548-1600), Italian
humanist, philosopher, 25, 496, 531-2,
537

Bucer, Martin (1491-1551), German
Protestant reformer and liturgical
scholar, 367

Buchanan, George (1506-82), Scottish
humanist, poet and political
philosopher, 572

Budaeus, Gulielmus (Guillaume Budé)
(1467-1540), French legal humanist,
diplomat and royal librarian, 26, 36,
125, 461, 525

Budé, Guillaume, see Budaeus, Gulielmus

Buffon, George-Louis Leclerc, count of
(1707-88), French scientist and
mathematician, 521

Bugenhagen, Johan (1485-1558), German
Protestant reformer, rector of
Copenhagen University, 191

Bullinger, Heinrich (1504-75), Swiss
Protestant reformer, 27

Buoncompagni, see Gregory XIII

Burckhard family, professors at Tiibingen
(16th-17th c.), 228

Burmeister, K. H. (20th c.), German
historian, 236

Busleyden, Jerome (c. 1470-1517),
Luxemburger, cardinal and founder of
the Collegium Trilingue Lovaniense, 36,

145

Butterfield, H. (zoth c.), historian, 536

Buxtorf (the elder), Johann (1564-1629),
German-Swiss Hebraist, professor at
Basle, 524

Caesar (Gaius Julius Caesar) (100-44 BC),
Roman emperor, 11

Caius, John (1510-51), English court
physician and patron of Gonville
College, Cambridge, 34

Cajetan, see Vio Cajetan, Thomas de

Callimachus (c. 305-c. 250 BC), Greek
poet, critic and grammarian, 574

Calvin, John (1509-64), French Protestant
Reformer, 7, 37, 44, 368, 476, 507,
513, 596-7

Camden, William (1551-1623), English
antiquary and historian, 217, 462

Camerarius, Rudolf Jacob (1665-1721),
German botanist, professor at
Tiibingen, 544

Campanella, Tomasso (1568-1639),
Italian philosopher, 496, 531

Campanus, John (fl. 13th c.), Italian
mathematician, 589

Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746-1818),
German educationalist, 250

Canisius, Peter (Kanis) (1521-97), Dutch
saint, Jesuit theologian, professor at
Dillingen, Freiburg i. Br., Ingolstadt,
Mainz, Vienna, 149

Cantini, Lorenzo (1765-1839), Italian
legal historian, 368

Cantiuncula, Claudius (Claude
Chansonnette) (c. 1490-1549), French
jurist, 244

Capella, Martianus (fl. late 4th and early
5th c.), Early Christian author, 497

Capiton, Wolfgang (Capito, Képfel)
(1478-1541), German Protestant
Reformer, theologian, professor at
Strasburg, 367

Caradeuc de La Chalotais, Louis René
(1701-85), French educationalist,
statesman, 374, 631

Carafa, see Paul IV

Cardano, Girolamo (1501-76), Italian
mathematician, physician and
astronomer, professor at Pavia and

Bologna, 543-4, 590

645

Name index

Carvalho, see Pombal, Sebastiao de
Carvalho

Casas, Bartholomé de Las, see Las Casas,
Bartholomé de

Cassini, Giovanni Domenico (1625-
1712), Italian astronomer, professor at
Bologna, director of the Paris
observatory, 543

Cassini, Jacques (1677-1756), Italian
mathematician, 543

Castellio, Sebastian (Sébastien Chateillon)
(1515-63), Savoyard translator and
professor of Greek at Basle, 37

Castiglione, Baldassare (1478-1529),
Italian diplomat and courtier, author,

313

Castilla y Aguayo, Juan (fl. late 16th c.),
Spanish author, 367

Castillo de Bobadilla, Jeronimus
(Géronimo) (1547-c. 1616), Spanish
author, 367

Catena, Pietro (1501-76), Italian scientist
and mathematician, professor at Padua,
591

Catherine I (1684-1727), empress of
Russia, 485

Catherine II (1729-96), empress of
Russia, 59, 225, 620

Caxton, William (c. 1422-91), English
publisher and printer, 459

Cecil, William (1520-98), English
politician, principal adviser to Queen
Elizabeth I, 224

Celsius, Anders (1701-44), Swedish
scientist and astronomer, 543-4

Celtis, Conrad (1459-1508), German
humanist and poet, professor at
Vienna, 32

Cerda, la, see Guzman y la Cerda, Maria
Isidora Quintina de

Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de (1547-
1616), Spanish novelist, playwrighter
and poet, 365, 369

Cesalpino, Andrea (1519-1603), Italian
philosopher and botanist, 543, 559

Cesi, Federigo (1585-1630), Italian prince
and amateur naturalist, 482

Chalotais, see Caradeuc de La Chalotais,
Louis René

Chambers, Ephraim (1680-1740), English
publicist and encyclopaedist, 500

Chansonnette, Claude, see Cantiuncula,
Claudius

Charles I (1600-49), king of England and
Scotland, 514

Charles I of Spain, see Charles V

Charles III (1716-88), king of Spain and

Naples, 77, 132, 272, 373, 584, 635
Charles IV (1748-1819), king of Spain,

373

Charles V (1500-58), Holy Roman
emperor and king of Spain (as Charles
I), 129, 145, 161, I81, 213, 420, 443,

545

Charles VIII (1470-98), king of France, 9

Charles X Gustav (1622-60), king of
Sweden, 166

Charles XI (1655-97), king of Sweden,
373

Chartier, Roger (20th c.), French
historian, 299

Chastelain, Jean (d. 1715), French
medical doctor, professor at
Montpellier, 242

Chaucer, Geoffrey (1342/3-1400), English
poet, 33

Chemnitz, Martin (Kemnitz) (1522-86),
German Lutheran theologian, professor
at Wittenberg, 504

Chéne, Christian (20th c.), French
historian, 227

Chini, Luca (d. 1556), Italian botanist,
creator of the botanical garden in Pisa,
470

Christian III (1503-59), king of Denmark
and Norway, 191

Christian IV (1577-1648), king of
Denmark and Norway, 31

Christina (1626-89), queen of Sweden,
31, 187

Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero, Tully)
(106-43 BC), Roman statesman and
author, II, 24-5, 28, 35, 40, 340, 490,
496-502, 505-8, 518-19, 524-6, 573

Cisneros, Ximénez de, see Ximénez de
Cisneros, Francisco

Clairaut, Alexis (1713-65), French
mathematician and astronomer, 554

Clap, Thomas (1703-67), American
clergyman and president of Yale
University, 273, 277

Clement XIV (Giovanni Vincenzo
Ganganelli) (1705-74), pope, 150, 626

Clenardus, Nicolaus (Nicolaas Beken
Cleynaerts) (1495-1542), Southern
Netherlands Hellenist, orientalist,
grammarian and educationalist,
professor at Louvain and Salamanca,
572

Cleynaerts, see Clenardus, Nicolaus

Clusius, Carolus (Charles de |’Escluse)
(1526-1609), Southern Netherlands
humanist and botanist, 21

646

Name index

Codrington, Christopher (1668-1710),
soldier, 270

Colbert, Jean Baptiste (1619-83), French
statesman, 128, 372, 455, 482

Colet, John (1466/7-1519), English
humanist and theologian, professor at
Oxford, 461, 501, 595

Colombo, Realdo (1516?—-59), Italian
anatomist and surgeon, 543, 559

Coluccio Salutati, see Salutati, Coluccio

Columbus, Christopher (14512-1506),
Italian navigator and discoverer, 14-19

Comenius, Johannes Amos (Jan Amos
Komensky) (1592-1670), Czech
educationalist and religious leader, 49,
137, 301, 495, 500

Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de (1714-80),
French philosopher and educationalist,

Conring, Herman (1606-81), German
jurist and medical doctor, professor at
Helmstedt, 51, 602

Conti, Niccolo de (1397-1469),
commercial traveller, 15

Coornhert, Dirck Volckertsz (1522-90),
Dutch humanist, 33

Cop, Nicolas (c. 1501-40), French
medical doctor, professor and rector at
Paris, 476

Cop, William (Wilhelm Kopp) (d. 1536,
or 1532), French medical doctor,
professor at Paris, personal physician of
King Francis I of France, 34

Copernicus, Nicholas (Niklas Koppernigk)
(1473-1543), Polish astronomer, 4, 12,

24, 455 471, $345 5375 543-45) 5495

S552 557 559 584, 591-2
Cordier, Mathurin (c. 1480-1564),

French teacher at Paris, 572

Cordus, Valerius (d. 1544), German
medical doctor, professor at
Wittenberg, 470

Cortes, Hernan (1485-1547), Spanish
conquerer, 16

Corvin, Matthias (Corvinus) (1440-90),
king of Hungary, 471

Coschwitz, George Daniel (1679-1729),
German medical doctor, anatomist,
professor at Halle, 195

Couto, Diego de (1542-1616), Portuguese
chronicler, 21

Craesbeke, Stephanus van (c. 1536-1618),
Southern Netherlands jurist and civil
servant, professor and visitor of
Louvain University, 166

Cremonini, Cesare (1550-1631), Italian
scientist, professor at Padua, 582

Croesus (c. 560-546 BC), king of Lydia,
251

Crombie, A. C. (zoth c.), historian, 536

Cromwell, Oliver (1599-1658), English
statesman, 483, 504-5

Crysts, see Cusanus, Nicolaus

Cudworth, Ralph (1617-88), English
philosopher, Cambridge Platonist, 497,
518, 534, 580

Cujas, Jacques (1522-90), French jurist,
professor at Bourges, 34, 417, 419,
498, 510, 607-8, 616, 617

Cullen, William (1710-90), Scottish
medical doctor, professor at Edinburgh,
248, 546, 559, 569, 614

Curtis, M. H. (zoth c.), historian, 393,
394

Cusanus, Nicolaus (Nicholas of Cusa,
Nikolaus Krebs, Crysts, Kues) (1401-
64), German philosopher and
theologian, humanist, cardinal, 17, 495,

498

Daguesseau, see Aguesseau, Henri
Francois d’

Dante Alighieri (1265-1321), Italian poet,
prose author, literary theorist, moral
philosopher, political thinker, 5

Darnton, R. (zoth c.), historian, 394

Darwin, Erasmus (1731-1802), English
physician, scientist and poet, 539

Daurat, see Dorat, Jean

Davy, Humphry (1778-1829), English
scientist and chemist, professor at the
London Royal Institution, 544

De la Gardie, Magnus Gabriel (1622-86),
Swedish statesman, 395

Delcourt, Adrien (1662-1740), French
theologian, professor at Douai, 237

Delisle, Joseph Nicolas (1688-1768),
French astronomer, professor at St
Petersburg, 231

Democritus (c. 460-370 BC), Greek
philosopher, 583

Demosthenes (c. 384-322 BC), Greek
statesman, orator, 340, 573

Denifle, Heinrich (19th c.), German
historian, xxi

Derham, William (1657-1735), English
divine and natural philosopher,
president of St John’s College at
Oxford, 524

Dernath, Gerhard, count of (1668-1740),
Saxon/Danish field marshal and
statesman, 437

Desault, Pierre (1738-95), French
surgeon, 402

647

Name index

Desbois de Rochefort, Louis (1750-86),
French surgeon, 402

Descartes, René (1596-1650), French
mathematician, scientist and
philosopher, 45, 423, 489, 509, 522-3,
528, 534, 538, 544, 550, 551-4, 559,
585-7, 592-3, 598, 602-3, 613

Despauterius, Johannes (Jan de Spouter)
(c. 1460-1520), Southern Netherlands
philologist, grammarian and
schoolmaster, 572

Diderot, Denis (1713-84), French man of
letters and philosopher, 59, 500, 539

Dodoens, Rembert (Rembertus
Dodonaeus) (1516/7—85), Southern
Netherlands medical doctor and
botanist, professor at Leiden, 215

Dodonaeus, Rembertus, see Dodoens,
Rembert

Does, see Dousa, Janus

Dorat, Jean (1508-88), French poet and
humanist, professor at Paris, 32, 574

Dortoman, Pierre (c. 1570-1612), French
medical doctor, professor at
Montpellier, 220

Dousa, Janus (Johan van der Does)
(1545-1604), Dutch statesman, poet
and historian, curator of Leiden
University, 144, 199, 231

Drau, see Le Drau, Francois

Drusius, Johannes (Jan van den Driessche)
(1568-1634), Brabant theologian,
abbot, visitor of Louvain University,
166

Dudley, Robert, earl of Leicester, see
Leicester, Robert Dudley, earl of

Duns Scotus, John (c. 1266-1308),
Scottish philosophical scholar and
Franciscan theologian, 11, 490, 493-4,
503, 518, 532, 596-7

Duplessis-Mornay, Philippe (1549-1623),
French statesman and humanist, 509,

513
Dwinglo, Bernard (d. after 1648), Dutch
Calvinist pastor and preacher, 37

Eck, Johann (1486-1543), German
Catholic theologian, professor at
Freiburg i. Br. and Ingolstadt, 4, 595

Edward VI (1537-53), king of England,

135
Elizabeth (1709-62), empress of Russia,
48, 123
Elizabeth I (1533-1603), queen of
England, 135, 137, 158, 179, 212, 312
Elsevier (Elzevier) family, Dutch printers
and publishers, 203-4

Elsevier (Elzevier), Isaac (1596-1651),
Dutch printer and publisher at Leiden,
203

Elyot, Thomas (c. 1490-c. 1546), English
humanist, miscellaneous author, 313

Elzevier, see Elsevier

Emmanuel I (1469-1521), king of
Portugal, 132

Erasmus, Desiderius (c. 1466-1536),
Dutch humanist and critic, 9, 20, 28-9,
32, 34-6, 44, I21, 129-30, 145, 250,
367, 418, 443, 458, 460-2, 495, 498,
SOL, 525, 5725 594-5

Erzleben, Dorothea (graduation 1754),
German female graduate in medicine at
Halle, 297

Escobar e Loaisa, Alfonso (Escobar y
Loaisa) (d. c. 1651), Spanish
jurisconsult and author, 287

Estienne, Henri (1528-98), French
humanist printer, 458, 524

Etaples, see Lefévre d’Etaples, Jacques

Euclid (fl. c. 300 Bc), Greek
mathematician, 217, §49, 554, 5573
589, 590, 592

Eulenburg, Franz (1867-1943), German
historian, professor at Leipzig and
Aachen, 303, 441

Euler, Leonhard (1707-83), German
mathematician, professor at St
Petersburg, 231, 554

Eusebius of Caesarea (c. 265-c. 340),
Early Christian author, 574

Fabricius ab Aquapendente, Hieronymus
(Geronimo or Girolamo, Fabrizio or
Fabrizi) (1537-1619), Italian surgeon
and anatomist, professor at Padua, 192,
546, 559

Fabricius, Johann Albert (1668-1736),
German philologist and bibliographer,
524

Fabrizi, Fabrizio, see Fabricius ab
Aquapendente, Hieronymus

Falloppio, Gabriele (c. 1523-62), Italian
medical doctor and anatomist,
professor at Padua, 546, 559

Faraday, Michael (1791-1867), English
physicist, professor at the London
Royal Institution, 544

Farnese, see Paul III

Fayard, Janine (zoth c.), French historian,

357
Feingold, M. (20th c.), historian, 535
Feltre, Vittorino Ramboldini da (1378-
1446), Italian humanist and
educationalist, 460

648

Name index

Ferdinand and Isabella, see Ferdinand of
Aragon and Isabella of Castile

Ferdinand I (1503-64), king of Bohemia
and Hungary, Holy Roman emperor,
314

Ferdinand of Aragon (1452-1516), king
of Spain, 129

Ferguson, Adam (1763-1816), Scottish
political philosopher and historian,
professor at Edinburgh, 516

Fermat, Pierre de (1601?-65), French
mathematician, 45

Fernel d’Amiens, Jean (1487-1558),
French court physician in Paris,
textbook writer, 12, 34

Fichet Guillaume (1433-1506), French
humanist, rector of Paris University,
202

Ficino, Marsilio (1433-99), Italian
philosopher, theologian and linguist,
8-9, 18, 458, 495-6, 502

Fidanza, John of, see Bonaventura

Finé, Oronce (1494-1555), French
mathematician, professor at Paris, 590

Fisher, John (1469-1535), English
humanist, martyr and prelate, 462

Flacius Illyricus, Matthias (1520-75),
church historian from Illyria, Lutheran
reformer, professor of Hebrew at
Wittenberg, 513

Fleury, Guillaume Francois Joly de see
Joly de Fleury, Guillaume Francois

Florent, Francois (c. 1590-1650), French
jurist, professor at Paris and Orléans,
220

Fluctibus, Robertus, see Fludd, Robert

Fludd, Robert (Robertus de Fluctibus)
(1574-1637), English medical doctor,
mystic philosopher, 496, 508

Fonseca, Pedro da (1528-99), Portuguese
philosopher and author, 133

Fontenelle, Bernard Le Bovier de (1657-
1757), French author and secretary of
the Académie des sciences, 40, 524

Forcellini, Egidio (1688-1768), Italian
lexicographer, 524

Formey, Johann Heinrich Samuel (1711-
97), German philosopher, historian and
theologian, 486

Fortescue, John (1394-c. 1476), English
legal author, judge, 456

Foucault, Michel (1926-84), French
philosopher and historian, 160

Fourcroy, Pierre (1755-1809), French
chemist, professor of medicine at Paris,
618

Francis I (1494-1547), king of France,
36, 125, 198, 443, 461

Franckenberg, Abraham (1593-1652),
German mystic, 496

Frank, R. G. (zoth c.), historian, 548

Frankland, Richard (1630-98), English
educationalist, 479

Franklin, Benjamin (1706-90), American
statesman and scientist, 543

Frederick I (1657-1713), king of Prussia,
374, 484

Frederick III the Wise, (1463-1525),
elector of Saxony, 4

Frederick William I (1688-1740), king of
Prussia, 228

Frederick William, the Great Elector
(1620-88), elector of Brandenburg,
205, 446

Frijhoff, Willem (zoth c.), Dutch
historian, xxii, 311

Frobenius, Johannes (Johann Froben)
(c. 1460-1527), Swiss scholar and
printer, 458

Fuchs, Leonhard (1501-66), German
botanist, professor at Tiibingen, 21

Galen (129-c. 199), Greek physician and
medical author, 11, 34, 453, SOI, 531;
5345 551, 569, 613, 615

Galiani, Ferdinando (1728-87), Italian
economist, 241

Galilei, Galileo (1564-1642), Italian
mathematician and astronomer, 25, 27,
45> 75> 468, 472, 4735 481-2, 52273,
532, 536-8, 544, 551, 5535 557 583,
591-2, 615

Gall, Franz (zoth c.), Austrian historian,
206

Galvani, Luigi (1737-98), Italian
physician and physicist, 75

Gama, Vasco da (c. 1460-1524),
Portuguese navigator and discoverer, 14

Gandersheim, see Hroswitha of
Gandersheim

Ganganelli, Giovanni Vincenzo, see
Clement XIV

Garcia Matamoros, Alfonso (1510?-72),
Spanish professor of rhetoric at Alcala,
a2

Gardie de la, Magnus Gabriel, see De la
Gardie, Magnus Gabriel

Gassend, see Gassendi, Pierre

Gassendi, Pierre (Gassend) (1592-1655),
French abbot, mathematician and
philosopher, 508-9, 523, 528, 531,
583, 585-6

Gelfand, T. (zoth c.), historian, 401

649

Name index

Gemma Frisius (Jemme Reinersz) (1 508-
55), Dutch geographer, mathematician
and medical doctor, professor at
Louvain, 466

Gerard, Laurens (1617-42), Dutch law
student from Amsterdam, 431

Gerard, Steven (after 1617-49), Dutch
law student from Amsterdam, 431

Gerhard, Johann (1582-1637), German
theologian, professor at Jena, 596

Gerson, Jean (1363-1429), French
theologian and Parisian chancellor, 495

Gesner, Johann Matthias (1691-1761),
German philologist, professor at
Gottingen, 568

Gessner, Conrad (1516-65), Swiss
humanist, zoologist and medical doctor,
professor at Zurich, 22, 34, 470, 545

Ghislieri, see Pius V

Gianfrancesco I Gonzaga, see Gonzaga,
Gianfrancesco I

Gibbon, Edward (1737-94), English
historian, 622

Gillispie, C. C. (zoth c.), historian, 541

Giphanius, Obertus (Hubertus van Giffen)
(1534-1604), Dutch philologist and
jurist, professor at Strasburg, Altdorf
and Ingolstadt, statesman, 197

Glareanus, Henricus (Heinrich Loriti,
Glarean) (1488-1563), Swiss humanist
and philosopher, professor at Basle and
Freiburg i. Br., 20-1

Glisson, Francis (1597-1677), professor
of medicine at Cambridge, 544

Gmelin family, professors at Tiibingen
(18th-19th c.), 228

Gmelin, Johann Georg (1709-55),
German naturalist and chemist,
professor at St Petersburg, 231

Gmelin, Samuel Gottlieb (1744-74),
German naturalist, 228, 231

Goens, Rijklof Michaél van (1748-1810),
Dutch philologist, professor at Utrecht,
251

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von (1749-
1832), German miscellaneous author,
199, 234

Gois, Damido de (1502-74), Portuguese
humanist and author, diplomat and
civil servant, 20

Gomara, Lopez de, see Lopez de Gomara,
Francisco

Gomez de Quevedo y Villegas, Francisco
(1580-1645), Spanish poet and prose
writer, 365

Gonzaga, Gianfrancesco I (1395-1444),
marquis of Mantua (Francesco di
Gonzaga), 460

Goropius, Gorp, see Becanus, Johannes
Gostling, Henry (fl. 1667-75), fellow at
Corpus Christi College, Cambridge,

534

Gottsched, Johann Christoph (1700-66),
German author, 571

Gower, John (c. 1325-1408), English
poet, 33

Graevius, Johann Georg (1632-1704),
German philologist and author,
professor at Duisburg, Deventer and
Utrecht, 525

Grandin, Martin (1604-91), French
theologian, professor at Paris, 595

Grangier, Jean (?1574-1644), French
principal at the Paris Collége de
Beauvais, 573

Gratian (d. before 1159), Italian monk,
Bolognese canonist, 599

Gravesande, Willem Jacob van ’s (1688-
1742), Dutch mathematician and
astronomer, professor at Leiden, 557,
586

Grazzini, Anton Francesco (1503-84),
Italian poet and dramatist, 481

Gregory IX (Ugolini da Segni) (c. 1145-
1241), pope, 599

Gregory XIII (Ugo Buoncompagni)
(1502-85), pope, 48, 480

Gregory, James (1638-75), Scottish
mathematician and astronomer,
professor at St Andrews and
Edinburgh, 542, 546, 559

Gresham, Thomas (1519-79), English
merchant, founder of Gresham College,
London, 466

Gronovius, Jacobus (Jacob Gronov)
(1645-1716), German-Dutch classical
scholar, professor at Leiden, 525

Gronovius, Johannes Fredericus (Johann
Friedrich Gronov) (1611-71), German
classical scholar, professor at Deventer
and Leiden, 357, 431, 525, 574

Grotius, Hugo (Hugo de Groot) (1583-
1645), Dutch jurist and theologian,
diplomat and statesman, 23, 27, 502,
§09, 511, 513, 608

Gruterus, Janus (Jan Gruter) (1560-27),
Southern Netherlands classic scholar,
professor at Heidelberg, 233

Guericke, Otto von (1602-86), German
philosopher and physicist, 553

Guevara, Antonio de (c. 1480-1545),
Spanish court preacher and man of
letters, 367

Guicciardini, Francesco (1483-1540),
Italian historian, diplomat and
statesman, author, 577

650

Name index

Gundling, Nicolas (1671-1729), German
theologian and jurist, professor at
Halle, 17

Gustav II Adolph (1594-1632), king of
Sweden, 275 31, 147, 1795 187, 196,
226

Gutenberg, Johannes (c. 1399-1468),
German inventor of printing, 540

Guzman, Gaspar de, count-duke of
Olivares (1587-1654), Spanish
statesman, 318

Guzman y la Cerda, Maria Isidora
Quintina de (1768-1803), Spanish
female graduate in philosophy and
letters at Alcala, scholar, 297

Hakluyt, Richard (c. 1552-1616), British
geographer and publicist, professor at
Oxford, 21

Hall, A. R. [Rupert] (zoth c.), historian,
533, 541

Hall, John (1627-56), English poet and
pamphleteer, 532

Hallé, Antoine (1592-1676), French
regius professor of eloquence at Caen,
576

Hallé, Pierre (1611-89), French professor
of law at the Collége Royal in Paris,
220

Haller, Albrecht von (1708-77), German
naturalist, professor at Gottingen, 402,
486, 545, 615

Hamilton, William (1730-1803), British
diplomat and archaeologist, 243

Hanover, House of (1714-1901), 262

Harrison, William (1534-93), English
chronologist and topographer, 456

Harvard, John (1607-38), American
principal founder of Harvard College,
Cambridge, Mass., 267, 276

Harvey, William (1578-1657), English
medical doctor, lecturer at the London
College of Physicians, 546, 548, 551

Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich (1770-
1831), German philosopher, professor
at Berlin, Heidelberg, Jena, 41, 527

Heineccius, Johann Gottlieb (Heinecke)
(1681-1741), German jurist, professor
at Halle, 226, 374, 600

Heinecke, see Heineccius, Johann Gottlieb

Heinrich, Otto, see Otto Heinrich

Heinsius, Daniel (1580-1655), classical
philologist, 33

Hell, Kaspar (d. 1608), German jurist,
professor at Ingolstadt, 222

Helmont, Franciscus, Mercurius van
(1618-99), Southern Netherlands

chemist, medical doctor and linguist,
502

Hemmingsen, Niels (1513-1600), Danish
Lutheran theologian, professor at
Copenhagen, 608

Hemsterhuys, Tiberius (1685-1766),
Dutch philologist, professor at Franeker
and Leiden, 574

Henry de Bracton, see Bracton, Henry de

Henry II (1519-59), king of France, 126

Henry IV (1553-1610), king of France,
126, 470, 509, 513

Henry the cardinal-king (1512-80), king
of Portugal, 133

Henry the Navigator (1394-1460),
Portuguese royal prince, sponsor of the
voyages of discovery, 132, 465

Henry VII (1457-1509), king of England,
211, 462

Henry VIII (1491-1547), king of
England, 34, 134, 211, 302, 312, 462

Hentzner, Paul (1558-1623), German
lawyer, 416

Hercules, 6, 15, 16

Herder, Johann Gottfried (1744-1803),
German philosopher, 519, 52-7, 623

Hermann, Zacharias (1563-1637),
German doctor of theology, pastor at
Breslau, 365

Hernandez, Francisco (d. 1578 or 1587),
Spanish author on America, 482

Hesiod (fl. 8th c. BC), early Greek poet,
340

Hesse, Philip, landgrave of (1504-67), 50

Hessen, Boris (20th c.), historian, 540

Hevelius, Johannes (Johann Hewel,
Howelcke) (1611-87), German
astronomer, 473

Hewel, see Hevelius, Johannes

Heyne, Christian Gottlob (1729-1812),
German classical scholar, professor at
GOttingen, 575

Hill, Christopher (zoth c.), English
historian, 446

Hippocrates (b. c. 460 BC), Greek
physician, 11, 613

Hispanus, Petrus, see John XXI

Hobbes, Thomas (1588-1679), English
philosopher, 301, 446, 494, 509-10,
512-13

Hodges, Nathaniel (1629-88), English
physician, 547

Hoffman, Friedrich (1660-1742), German
medical doctor, pharmacist, professor
at Gottingen, 546, 559

Holdsworth, Richard (1590-1649),
English theologian, fellow of St John’s
College, Oxford, 212

651

Name index

Hollywood, see Sacrobosco, John of
Homer (fl. 850 BC), Greek poet, 39, 340,
573s 575
Honorius III (Concio Savelli) (c. 1150-
1227), pope, 600
Hooke, Robert (1635-1703), English
astronomer and mathematician, fellow
-of Christ Church, Oxford, 547-8
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) (65-8
BC), Latin poet, 39, 573-4
Hotman, Francois (1524-90), French
jurist and political thinker, Calvinist,
diplomat, professor at Lyons, Geneva,
Lausanne, Valence, Bourges, Basle, 608
Howelcke, see Hevelius, Johannes
Hroswitha of Gandersheim (c. 935-1000),
German nun and poet, 32
Humboldt, Wilhelm von (1767-1835),
German philologist, diplomat and man
of letters, 41, 44, 56, 274, 374, 376,
446, 447, SOI, S19, 526-7
Hume, David (1711-76), Scottish
philosopher, historian and essayist, 26,
516, 521, 529, 555, 628
Hutten, Ulrich von (1488-1523), German
humanist, 8, 33
Huygens, Christiaan (1629-95), Dutch
mathematician, astronomer and
physicist, 45, 543
Huysman, Roelof, see Agricola, Rudolph
Hyde, Thomas (1636-1703), English
orientalist, librarian of the Bodleian at
Oxford, 198

Ickstatt, Johann Adam (1702-76),
German jurist, professor at Ingolstadt
and Wiirzburg, 604

Irsay, Stéphane d’ (20th c.), French
historian, xxii

Isabella of Castile (1451-1504), queen of
Spain, 129

Isabella of Habsburg (1566-1633),
archduchess of Austria, sovereign of the
Southern Netherlands, 165

Isocrates (436-338 BC), Athenian orator,

340

Jarausch, Konrad H. (zoth c.), American
historian, 79

Johannes Campanus, see Campanus, John

John Duns Scotus, see Duns Scotus, John

John II (1455-95), king of Portugal, 465

John III (1502-57), king of Portugal, 132

John of Sacrobosco, see Sacrobosco, John
of

John XXI (Peter of Spain, Petrus
Hispanus) (c. 1210/20-77), philosopher,

pope, 578, 580

Joly de Fleury, Guillaume Francois
(1675-1756), French magistrate, 237

Jones, R. (zoth c.), historian, 78

Joseph I (1714-77), king of Portugal,
134, 636

Joseph II (1741-90), Holy Roman
emperor, 46, 142, 166, 207, 323, 512

Julius II (Giuliano della Rovere) (1443-
1513), pope, 223

Justi, Johann Heinrich Gottlob von
(1717-71), German cameralist,
professor at Gottingen, 603-4

Justinian (483-565), Byzantine emperor,
567, 599, 600, 606

Juvenal (Decimus Junius Juvenalis) (c. 60-
c. 130), Latin satirist, 15

Kagan, Richard L. (zoth c.), American
historian, 242, 300, 391

Kalsenius, Andreas (1688-1750), Swedish
bishop of Uppsala, 188

Kaniewska, Irena (zoth c.), Polish
historian, 441

Kant, Immanuel (1724-1804), German
philosopher, professor at Kénigsberg, 7,
18, 509, 520-1, 528, 588-9, 616, 622

Karl Ludwig (1617-80), elector of the
Palatinate, 218

Karlstadt, Andreas Rudolf Bodenstein von
(c. 1477-1541), German Puritan
reformer, theologian, professor at
Wittenberg, 367

Kaufmann, Georg (19th c.), German
historian, xxi

Keckermann, Bartholomaeus (1572-
1608), German professor of philosophy
at Danzig, 21

Kepler, Johannes (1571-1630), German
mathematician and astronomer, 27,
472, 473, 498, 522, 536, 538, 542,

544, 546 .
Kircher, Athanasius (1602-80), German

Jesuit, sinologist, natural philosopher,
cabalist, professor at Paderborn, 496,
500, 509

Knorr von Rosenroth, Christian (163 6-
89), German Neoplatonic—Hermetic
philosopher, Christian cabalist, 502

Knox, John (c. 1513-72), Scottish
religious reformer, 138

Komensky, see Comenius, Johannes Amos

Ko6nigsberg, Johann Miiller von, see
Regiomontanus, Johannes

Kopfel, Wolfgang see Capiton, Wolfgang

Kopp, see Cop, Nicolas

Korff, X (fl. 1786), chancellor of the
University of Kénigsberg, 230

652

Name index

Koyré, A. (20th c.), historian, 535, 541

Krafft, Georg Wolfgang (1701-54),
German anatomist, surgeon and
zoologist, professor at St Petersburg,
27

Krebs, see Cusanus, Nicolaus

Kues, see Cusanus, Nicolaus

Kuhn, Thomas Samuel (20th c.),
American philosopher of science, 538

La Ramée, Pierre de, see Ramus, Petrus

La Vopa, A. (20th c.), historian, 382

Lactantius, Caecilius (or Caelius)
Firmianus (c. 250-c. 330), Early
Christian Latin author, 20

Lair, Johannes, see Siberch, John

Lambeck, Peter (1628-80), librarian of
the Viennese Court Library, 198

Lambertini, see Benedict XIV

Lambin, Denis (Dionysius Lambinus)
(1520-72), French humanist, 574

Las Casas, Bartholomé de (1474-1566),
Spanish Dominican, historian and
missionary, defender of the rights of the
Indians, 23

Lascaris, John (1445-1535), Greek
scholar and diplomat, professor of
Greek at Florence, 461

Laud, William (1573-1645), archbishop
of Canterbury, 120, 136, 166, 174,
180, 201, 224, 360, 537

Lauterbach, Johann (1531-93), German
humanist and poet, 368

Lauterbeck, Georg (d. 1578), German
author, 367

Lavoisier, Antoine Laurent de (1743-94),
French chemist, 552

Le Drau, Francois (1685-1770), French
surgeon, 618

Le Roy, see Regius, Louis

Leclerc, George-Louis, see Buffon,
George-Louis Leclerc

Leeuwenhoek, Antonie van (1632-1723),
Dutch microscopist, 543

Lefévre d’Etaples, Jacques (c. 1455-1536),
French humanist and theologian, 458,
495, 498, 501

Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm (1646-1716),
German philosopher, mathematician
and diplomat, 16, 198, 394, 484, 486,
500, 509, 519-20, 523, 528, 538, 554,
585-6, 624

Leicester, Robert Dudley, earl of (1532/3-
88), English statesman, favourite of
Elizabeth I, chancellor of Oxford
University, 179

Leo X (Giovanni de Medici) (1475-
1521), pope, 461

Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519), Italian
artist, painter, sculptor, architect and
engineer, 467

Leoniceno, Niccolé (1428-1524), Italian
humanist, medical doctor, philologist,
professor at Ferrara, 34

Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim (1729-81),
German miscellaneous author, 509, 598

Libavius, Andreas (c. 1560-1616),
German chemist, 543

Liebig, Justus baron von (1803-73),
German chemist, professor at Giessen,
547

Linacre, Thomas (c. 1460-1524), English
medical doctor and author, fellow of
All Souls College, Oxford, 34, 188,
211, 2355 4545 545

Linnaeus, Carolus (Carl von Linné)
(1707-78), Swedish medical doctor and
botanist, professor at Uppsala, 482,
521, 5455 547, 615

Linné, see Linnaeus, Carolus

Lipsius, Justus (1547-1606), Southern
Netherlands humanist, classical scholar
and moral and political theorist,
professor at Louvain and Leiden, 8, 25,
275 30-1, 45, 215, 576

Livy (Titus Livius) (§9 BC-AD 17),
Roman historian, 573

Loaisa, Alfonso Escobar y, see Escobar e
Loaisa, Alfonso

Locke, John (1632-1704), English
medical doctor and philosopher,
author, 494, 514, 516, 523, 528, 539,
5475 557-8, 585, 627

Lombard, Peter (Petrus Lombardus)
(c. 1100-60), French theologian, bishop
of Paris, 593, 594, 596, 602

Lomonosov, Mikhail Vasilevich (1711-
65), Russian poet, scientist and
grammarian, professor at Moscow, 48,
232

Longomontanus, Christian (Christen
Sorensen Longomontanus) (1562-
1647), Danish mathematician and
astronomer, professor at Copenhagen,
592

Lopez de Gomara, Francisco (1510-
c. 1560), Spanish chronicler, 12

Loriti, see Glareanus, Henricus

Lorraine, René II, duke of Vaudémont
and, see René II

Louis of Wiirttemberg, see Wiirttemberg,
Louis

653

Name index

Louis XIII (1601-43), king of France,
162, 317

Louis XIV (1638-1715), king of France,
122, 128, 372, 427, 437, 476, 577;
606

Louis XV (1710-74), king of France, 167

Lower, Richard (1631-91), English
medical doctor and physiologist, fellow
of Christ Church, Oxford, 547-8

Loyola, Ignatius of (1491-1556), Spanish
founder of the Society of Jesus, 477

Lucian (Lucianus) (c. 115-c. 200), Greek
author, 573

Lucius, Peter (1590-1656), German
printer at Rinteln, 203

Lucretius (Titus Lucretius Carus) (c. 98-
c. §5 BC), Latin philosophical poet, 574

Luther, Martin (1483-1546), German
reformer, biblical scholar and linguist,
professor at Wittenberg 4, 9, 12-13,
44, 84, 115-16, 118-19, 141, 144-5,
226, 234; 286, 366-7, 381, 410, 459;
476, 479, 495, 503-5, 518, 573, 595;
597, 604, 616

McClellan III, J. E. (zoth c.), American
historian, 556

McEvedy, C. (20th c.), historian, 78

Machiavelli, Niccol6 (1469-1527), Italian
statesman, author and political theorist,
30, 367, 457, §13

Maéstlin, Michael (1550-1631), German
mathematician and astronomer,
professor at Tiibingen, 546, 592

Magellan, Ferdinand (Ferndo de
Magalhaes) (1480-1521), Portuguese
navigator and discoverer, 12, 16

Maier, Michael (1568-1622), German
alchemist, Calvinist-Rosicrucian, 508

Malebranche, Nicolas de (1638-1715),
French philosopher and Cartesian
scientist, 523, 585

Malpighi, Marcello (1628-94), Italian
microscopist and naturalist, 75, 545,

559

Malthus, Thomas Robert (1766-1834),
English economist, 357, 363, 396

Mancebo, M. F. (20th c.), Spanish
historian, 393

Manetti, Giannozzo (1396-1459), Italian
humanist, historian and diplomat, 18

Manuel, Frank (20th c.), historian, 541

Manutius (the Elder), Aldus (Tebaldo
Manuzio) (1452-1515), Italian
humanist and printer, 9, 459

Manuzio, see Manutius, Aldus

Marat, Jean Paul (1743-93), French
physician and statesman, 358

Maria Theresia (1717-80), queen of
Hungary and Bohemia, Holy Roman
empress, 142, 150, 172, 180, 196, 206,
438

Marsilio Ficino, see Ficino, Marsilio

Marsilius of Padua, see Padua, Marsilius
of

Martens, Thierry (1446/7-1 534),
Southern Netherlands printer at Alost,
Antwerp and Louvain, 203

Mattianus Capella, see Capella,
Martianus

Martino , Niccolo de (fl. 18th c.), Italian
physicist, professor at Naples, 586

Martire d’Anghiera, Pietro (Peter Martyr)
(1457-1526), Italian humanist,
professor at Salamanca, secretary of the
‘Indian Council’ at the Spanish court,
15

Martyr, Peter, see Martire d’Anghiera,
Pietro

Marx, Karl (1818-83), German political
philosopher and economist, 539-40

Mary Tudor (named Bloody Mary)
(1516-58), queen of England, 135, 428

Matamoros, see Garcia Matamoros,
Alfonso

Mather, Increase (1639-1723), American
Congregational minister, author and
statesman, 277

Matthew, evangelist, 367

Matthew, W. M. (20th c.), historian, 409,
410

Matthias Corvinus, see Corvin, Matthias

Maupertuis, Pierre Louis Moreau de
(1698-1759), French mathematician,
486

Maurice prince of Nassau, see Nassau,
Maurice of

Maurilico, Francesco (1494-1575), Italian
mathematician and optician, 591

Maurus, Bernardus (fl. 1519), 35

Maxim the Greek (Maximus the
Hagiorite, Michael Trivolis) (c. 1470-
1556), Greek Orthodox monk,
humanist scholar and linguist, 445

Maximilian I (1573-1651), duke of
Bavaria, 165

Maximilian II (1527-76), Holy Roman
emperor, 205

Mayans, Gregori (1699-1781), Spanish
scholar, 75

Mayow, John (1640-79), English chemist
and physiologist, fellow of Christ
Church, Oxford, 547-8

654

Name index

Mazarin, Jules (1602-61), French
statesman of Italian origin, prelate, 482

Medici, family de, 160, 467, 472

Medici, Cosimo I de (1519-74), second
duke of Florence and first grand duke
of Tuscany, 160

Medici, Ferdinand II de (1610-70), grand
duke of Tuscany, 482

Medici, Giovanni de, see Leo X

Medici, Giovanni Angelo de, see Pius IV

Medici, Lorenzo de, the Magnificent
(1469-92), ruler of Florence, 458, 461,
481

Meiners, Christoph (1747-1810), German
historian, professor at Gottingen, 178,
189-90, 215, 225

Melanchthon, Philip (1497-1560),
German humanist, religious reformer,
theologian and educationalist, professor
at Wittenberg, 9-11, 18, 27, 35-6, 38-
95 65, 116-17, T41, 234, 251, 462,
§02, 507, 525, 595-7

Melville, Andrew (1545-1622), Scottish
religious reformer and humanist, 138-9

Mencke, Johann Bernhard (1674-1732),
German historian, professor at Leipzig,
16

Mencke, Otto (1644-1707), German
philosopher, professor at Leipzig,
16-17

Méndez Sanz, F. (zoth c.), Spanish
historian, 189

Mentzer, Balthasar (1565-1627), German
theologian, professor at Marburg and
Giessen, 227

Mercator, Gerard (Gerard de Kremer)
(1512-94), Southern Netherlands
mathematician and cartographer,
professor at Duisburg, 466

Mercurius, see Helmont, Franciscus
Mercurius van

Mersenne, Marin (1588-1648), French
mathematician and musicologist, 482,
508-9, 534

Michaelis, Johann David (1717—91),
German orientalist, professor at
Gottingen, 215, 237, 302, 395, 525

Migeot, Antoine (1730-94), professor of
philosophy at Reims, 569

Millot, Claude Francois (1726-85),
French historian, professor of rhetoric
at Lyons and professor of history at
Parma, 577°

Mirandola, see Pico della Mirandola,
Giovanni

Modéer, K. A. (zoth c.), historian, 445

Mohyla, Peter (Mogyla) (1592-1647),
Moldavian, Russian Orthodox
metropolitan of Kiev, author, 48

Moliére, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, named
(1622-73), French playwright, 400

Molina, Luis (1535-1600), Spanish Jesuit
theologian, professor at Coimbra and
Evora, 133, 506

Monardes, Nicolas (d. 1583), Spanish
physician, 21

Monro, family of medical professors at
Edinburgh (18th c.), 546, 559

Monro II, Alexander (1733-1817),
Scottish medical doctor, professor at
Edinburgh, 248

Montaigne, Michael Eyquem de (1533-
92), French philosopher and author,
382, 416, 509

Montanus, Giovanni Batista (Giambattista
da Monte) (1498-1552), Italian medical
doctor, professor at Padua, 611

Monte, Guid’Ubaldo del (d. 1607), Italian
military engineer, 467

Montesquieu, Charles de Secondat, baron
de La Bréde et de (1689-1755), French
philosopher, 521, 622, 627

More, Henry (1614-87), English
Neoplatonic philosopher, fellow at
Christ College, Cambridge, 497, 580

More, Thomas (1478-1535), English
humanist and statesman, 9, 33, 461

Moreau de, see Maupertuis, Pierre Louis
Moreau de

Morgagni, Giambattista (1682-1771),
Italian anatomist, professor at Padua,
545, 615

Moryson, Fynes (Moreson) (1566-1630),
English diplomat, 29

Moser, Justus (1720-94), German
political essayist and poet, 302, 395

Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus (1756-91),
Austrian composer, 506

Miiller von K6nigsberg, Johann, see
Regiomontanus, Johannes

Miinchhausen, Gerlach Adolf von (1688-
1770), German statesman, 225, 227,
231, 239

Miinster, Sebastian (1489-1552), German
Hebraist, professor at Heidelberg and
Basle, 20

Muratori, Lodovico Antonio (1672-
1750), Italian scholar and historian and
man of letters, priest, librarian, 75,
1225.3745:622

Musschenbroek, Petrus van (1692-1761),
Dutch physicist, professor at Utrecht,

537

655

Name index

Mynsinger, Joachim (1517-88), German
lawyer and poet, 244

Napoleon Bonaparte (1769-1821), French
emperor, 128, 290, 555, 633, 638-9

Nassau, Louis of (1538-74), brother of
William the Silent, 476

Nassau, Maurice of (1567-25), prince of
Orange, Dutch stadtholder, 30, 57,
390, 468

Nassau, William I (the Silent) (1533-84),
prince of Orange, Dutch stadtholder,
468, 477

Nassau-Siegen, Johann von (1604-79),
count of Nassau-Siegen, Dutch colonial
governor and military commander, 31

Nebrija, Antonio de (Antonius
Nebrissensis) (1444-1522), Spanish
legal humanist, writer, 15

Nebrissensis, see Nebrija, Antonio de

Nelis, Corneille Frangois de (1736-98),
Southern Netherlands prelate and
statesman, librarian at Louvain
University, 199

Nettesheim, Agrippa von (1486-1535),
German humanist, 496

Newcomen, Thomas (1663-1729),
English engineer, inventor of the steam
engine, 468

Newton, Isaac (1643-1727), English
physicist and mathematician, fellow of
Trinity College and professor at
Cambridge, 13, 46, 472, 523, 525,
532, 538-41, 544-6, 549, 552, 554,

557s 570, 585-9, 593, 613, 615, 628
Nicholas of Cusa, see Cusanus, Nicolaus

Nietzsche, Friedrich (1844-1900),
German philosopher, 527

Niléhn, Lars (20th c.), Swedish historian,
441

Novara, Domenico Maria de (1464-
1514), Italian astronomer, 471

Nufies, Pedro (1502-78), Portuguese
mathematician and geographer,
professor at Coimbra, 466

Oberman, Heiko A. (20th c.), American
historian, xxi, 4

Obrecht, Georg (1547-1612), German
jurist, professor at Strasburg, 601, 602

Oldenbarnevelt, Johan van (1547-1619),
Dutch statesman, 390

Oldendorp, John (1480-1567), German
jurist, professor at Marburg, 367

Olivares, see Guzman, Gaspar de

Olivier-Martin, Francois (zoth c.), French
legal historian, 606

Opitz von Boberfeld, Martin (1597-
1639), German poet, 27
Orange, see Nassau, Maurice of; William

Orta, Garcia da (1504-79), Portuguese
philosopher and botanist, 21

Otto Heinrich (1502-59), elector of the
Palatinate, 218

Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso) (43 BC-AD
18), Latin poet, 39, 573

Oviedo, see Valdés, Oviedo y

Oxenstierna, Axel (1583-1654), count of
Siidermiire and Swedish statesman, 27,
166

Padua, Marsilius of (c. 1280-c. 1343),
Italian political philosopher, 513

Paracelsus, Philippus Aureolus
Theophrastus Bombastus von
Hohenheim (1493/4-1541), Swiss
physician and alchemist, 496, 502, 508,
315552

Paré, Ambroise (1510-90), French
surgeon, 543

Pascal, Blaise (1623-62), French
mathematician, physicist, philosopher
and author, 543, 553

Patin, Carla Gabriella (fl. late 17th c.),
French/Italian female author, daughter
of Charles Patin, 296

Patin, Charles (1633-93), French medical
doctor and numismatist, professor at
Padua, 296

Patricius, Franciscus (Francesco Patrizi)
(1529-97), Italian philosopher,
professor at Ferrara, Padua and Rome,
16, 496, 509

Patrizi, see Patricius, Franciscus

Paul I (1754-1801), tsar of Russia, 421

Paul III (Alexander Farnese) (1468-1549),
pope, 23

Paul IV (Gian Pietro Carafa) (1476-
1559), pope, 69, 295

Paulsen, Friedrich (1846-1908), professor
of history at Berlin, xx

Pereyra, Benito (1535-1610), Spanish
Jesuit philosopher and theologian, 287,
295

Perga, see Apollonius Pergaeus

PeSek, Jifi (20th c.), Czech historian, 444

Peset, Mariano (2oth c.), Spanish
historian, 393

Peter Lombard, see Lombard, Peter

Peter of Spain, see John XXI

Peter the Great (1672-1725), tsar of

Russia, 48, 59, 79, 123, 375, 440, 485,
621

656

Name index

Petrarch, Francesco (1304-74), Italian
poet, humanist, 5, 15, 16, 457, 498,
525

Petzholdt Julius (1812-91), German
librarian and historian, 195, 197

Peucer, Gaspar (1525-1602), German
humanist, professor at Wittenberg, 462

Peurbach, George of (Purbach, Peuerbach)
(1423-61), Austrian mathematician and
astronomer, lecturer at Vienna, 18,
470, 572

Philip II (1527-98), king of Spain and
Portugal, 23, 49, 130, 145-6, 166, 181,
315, 420, 480

Philip IV (1605-65), king of Spain and
Portugal, 221, 318

Philip of Hesse see Hesse, Philip of

Philip V (1683-1746), king of Spain, 228,
242, 322

Piccolomini, see Pius II

Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni (1463-
94), Italian humanist and philosopher,
495-6, 502

Piranesi, Giambattista (1720-78), Italian
engraver and architect, 40

Pirckheimer, Willibald (1470-1530),
German humanist, Niiremberg town
official, 8

Piscopia, Elena Lucrezia Cornaro (1646-
84), Italian female graduate in
philosophy at Padua, 296

Pitcairn, Archibald (Pitcairne) (1652-
1713), Scottish physician and poet,
iatromechanist, professor at Leiden,
614

Pius II (Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini)
(1405-64), pope, 14, 17, 19

Pius IV (Giovanni Angelo de Medici)
(1499-1565), pope, 149, 293, 361

Pius V (Antonio Ghislieri) (1504-72),
pope, 161, 183, 295

Plantin, Christophe (c. 1520-89),
Southern Netherlands printer at
Antwerp and Leiden, of French origin,
203

Plato (c. 427-c. 347 BC), Greek
philosopher, 9, 11, 496, 579-80

Platter, Felix (1536-1614), Swiss
physician, author, professor of medicine
at Basle, 433

Plessis, see Richelieu, Armand Jean du
Plessis

Plunkett, John (1664-1734), Irish
theologian and Jacobite agent, 242

Pocock, Edward (Pococke) (1604-91),
English orientalist and biblical scholar,
professor at Oxford, 525

Poggio, see Bracciolini, Poggio

Poisson, see Pompadour, Antoinette
Poisson

Pole, Reginald (1500-58), cardinal and
archbishop of Canterbury, 33, 477

Poleni, Giovanni (1683-1761), Italian
physicist, professor at Padua, 557

Politian, see Poliziano, Angelo Ambrogini

Poliziano, Angelo Ambrogini (Politian)
(1454-94), Italian poet, dramatist and
legal humanist, 498, 525

Pombal, Sebastido de Carvalho, marquis
of (1699-1782), Portuguese reformer
and statesman, 75, 77, 133-4, 637

Pompadour, Antoinette Poisson, marquise
de (1721-64), 40

Pomponius Mela (1st c. AD),
Spanish-Roman geographer, 576

Pope, Walter, (d. 1714), English
astronomer and philosopher, active at
Wadham College, Oxford, 547

Popeliniére, Lancelot de La (c. 1540-
1608), French historian, 23

Poquelin, see Moliére

Porphyry (c. 234-c. 305), Platonist
philosopher, 580

Porta, Giambattista della (1534-1615),
Italian medical doctor and scientist,
481, 496

Possevin, Antoine (Antonio Possevino)
(1534-1611), Italian Jesuit, diplomat
and man of letters, 149

Power, Henry (1623-68), English author,
medical doctor and naturalist, 536

Poype de Vertrieu, Jean Claude de la (d.
1732), bishop of Poitiers, 597

Pozzo Toscanelli, Paolo dal (1397-1482),
Florentine humanist, medical doctor
and mathematician, 14, 17

Priestley, Joseph (1733-1804), English
dissenting clergyman, chemist and
theologian, 539

Ptolemaeus, see Ptolemy

Ptolemy (Claudius Ptolemaeus) (c. too-
c. 170), astronomer, geographer and
mathematician, active in Alexandria,

14, 20, 24, 465, 471, 5335 5345 5495

557, $89, 591
Pufendorf, Samuel von (1632-94),

German historian and publicist,
professor at Heidelberg and Lund, 23,
511, 514, 602-3, 608
Purbach, see Peurbach, George of
Piitter, Johann Stephan (1725-1807),
German jurist, professor at Géttingen,

515

657

Name index

Pythagoras (c. 575-c. 480 BC), Greek
philosopher and mathematician, 496,

522, $50

Quevedo, see GOmez de Quevedo y
Villegas, Francisco

Rabus, Pieter (1660-1702), Dutch
grammar school teacher, 394

Ramae, Pierre de la, see Ramus, Petrus

Ramsey, M. (2oth c.), historian, 406

Ramus, Petrus (Pierre de la Ramée)
(1515-72), French humanist, scholar,
10-12, 17, 45, 498, 499, 550, 581-2

Ranke, Leopold von (1795-1886),
German historian, professor at Berlin,
578

Raphelengius, Franciscus (Frans van
Ravelingen) (1539-97), Southern
Netherlands humanist, orientalist,
printer at Antwerp and Leiden, 203

Rashdall, Hastings (1858-1924), English
historian, xxii

Ravelingen, see Raphelengius, Franciscus

Rede, Robert (d. 1519), English lawyer,
chief justice of Common Pleas,
benefactor of Cambridge University,
211

Regiomontanus, Johannes (Johann Miiller
von Kiinigsberg) (1436-76), German
astronomer and mathematician,
professor at Vienna and Padua, 17-18,
458, 471, 591

Regius, Henry (Henricus or Hendrik de
Roy) (1598-1679), Dutch medical
doctor, professor at Utrecht, 613

Regius, Louis (Louis Le Roy) (1510-77),
French humanist, translator and
historico-political theorist, 23

Reimarus, Hermann Samuel (1694-1768),
German philologist, philosopher and
biblical critic, 524, 526, 598, 616

Reisch, Georg (c. 1470-1525), German
philosopher and theologian, 499

Reitz, Johan Frederik (1695-1778),
German philologist and professor at
Utrecht, 232

René II of Vaudémont and Lorraine
(1451-1508), 19

Rescius, Rutger (Rutger Ressen) (c. 1497-
1545), Southern Netherlands scholar
and publisher, professor of Greek at the
trilingual college of Louvain, 203

Reuchlin, Johannes (1455-1522), German
humanist and jurist, political and
classical scholar, professor at Basle,

Ingolstadt and Tiibingen, 461-2, 496,
502
Revel, Jacques (2oth c.), French historian,

299

Richard of Wallingford, see Wallingford,
Richard of

Richelieu, Armand Jean du Plessis, duke
of (1585-1642), cardinal, French
statesman, 395, 482

Ridder-Symoens, Hilde de (20th c.),
Belgian historian, xxiii

Ringmann, Matthias (1482-1511),
German humanist, 16, 19

Rivard, D. (zoth c.), historian, 592

Robertson, William (1721-93), English
historian, 622

Rochefort, Louis Desbois de see Desbois
de Rochefort, Louis

Roggero, Marina (2oth c.), Italian
historian, 393

Rollin, Charles (1661-1741), French
humanist and historian, rector at Paris,
576

Ronsard, Pierre de (1524-85), French
poet, 32

Rooke, Laurence (1622-62), English
astronomer and philosopher, active at
Wadham College, Oxford, 547

Roriz, Martinus de (fl. 1474), father
confessor of the Portuguese king
Alfonso V, 17

Rosenroth, see Knorr von Rosenroth,
Christian

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques (1712-78), French
philosopher, 521, 627

Rovere, see Julius II

Roy, see Regius, Louis

Rubens, Peter Paul (1577-1640),
Southern Netherlands painter and
diplomat, 506

Rudolf II (1552-1612), Holy Roman
emperor, 472, 548

Russel, see Wallace, Alfred Russel

Sabundus, Raymundus (d. 1436), Spanish
physician and philosopher, 509

Sacrobosco, John of (John of Hollywood)
(c. 1200-c. 1256), English astronomer,
Parisian master, 589-90

Saeckma, Johannes (1572-1636), Dutch
scholar, curator of the university library
at Franeker, 200

Saint-Paul, see Hotman, Francois

Sallo, Denis de (1626-69), French poet
and publisher, lawyer, 485

Salutati, Coluccio (1331-1406), Italian
humanist, 37

6558

Name index

Salviati, Leonardo (1540-89), Italian
philologist, 481

Salzmann, Christian Gotthilf (1744-

_ 1811), German author, 227

Saman, D. (zoth c.), Czech historian, 444

Sanctorius (Santorio Santorio) (1561-
1636), Italian medical doctor, 559

Santorio, see Sanctorius

Sauvages, see Boissier de Sauvages,
Francois

Savelli, see Honorius III

Savery, Thomas (c. 1650-1715), English
engineer, 468

Savile, Henry (1549-1622), English
classical scholar and mathematician,
fellow of Merton College and professor
at Oxford, 188, 211, 217, 557

Saxoferrato, Bartolus de, see Bartolus de
Saxoferrato

Scaliger, Joseph Justus (1540-1609),
French philologist and historian,
professor at Leiden, 45, 215, 498, 502,
524-5, 574

Schaidenreisser, Simon (also called
Minervius) (d. c. 1573), German
humanist, translator and poet, 38

Scheck family from Tiibingen, 248

Schegk, James (1511-87), German
philosopher, professor of medicine at
Tiibingen, 569

Scheiner, Christoph (1575-1650), German
astronomer, professor at Ingolstadt and
Munich, 473

Schiller, Johann Christoph Friedrich von
(1759-1805), German poet and
dramatist, 628

Schlézer, August Ludwig von (173 5-
1809), German historian and jurist,
professor at Gottingen, 578

Schmauss, Johann Jacob (1690-1757),
German professor at Halle and
Gottingen, 230

Schmitt, Charles (20th c.), English
historian, xxii, 534

Schormann, Gerhard (20th c.), German
historian, 184

Schroderus, Schroder, see Skytte, Johan

Schurman, Anna Maria van (1607-78),
Dutch Latin poet and female student at
Utrecht, 296

Scipio, Roman family of generals and
statesmen in the 3th—-2nd c. Bc, 33

Scotus, see Duns Scotus, John

Seckendorff, Veit Ludwig von (1626-92),
German political thinker and
educationalist, chancellor of Halle
University, 301

Secondat, see Montesquieu, Charles de
Secondat

Segni, see Gregory IX

Seidelbast, Johann Gottfried (fl. 1700),
German philologist and bibliographer,
524

Seneca (Lucius Annaeus Seneca) (c. 4 BC-
AD 65), Roman philosopher, 574

Sepilveda, Juan Ginés de (c. 1490-1572),
Spanish humanist and theologian,
defender of Spanish colonialism, 23

Servet, Michael (Michel or Miguel Servet,
Servetus) (1511-53), Catalan
theologian, religious reformer, 37

Shaftesbury, Anthony (1671-1713),
English philosopher, 519, 527

Sheldon, Gilbert (1598-1677), archbishop
of Canterbury, 179

Siberch, John (Johannes Lair of Sieburg)
(fl. 1520-53), English printer and
publisher, 202

Sigismund III (1566-1632), king of
Poland, 425

Simon, Richard (1638-1712), French
Catholic biblical philologist, Oratorian,
525, 599

Skytte, Johan (Schroderus, Schroeder) (d.
1645), Swedish statesman, chancellor,
166, 179-80, 188

Sleidan, John (Johannes Philippi
Sleidanus) (1506-56), German
historian, ambassador for the German
Protestant princes, 576

Slusius, see Sluze, René Francois de

Sluze, Rena Francois de (Slusius) (1622-
85), Southern Netherlands
mathematician, 542

Smith, Adam (1723-90), Scottish social
philosopher and political economist,
professor at Glasgow, 234, 516, 571,
587

Smith, John (1618-52), English
Neoplatonic philosopher, 497

Smith, Thomas (1513-77), English
statesman, lawyer and scholar, 135

Smith, William (1727-1803), English
educationalist and clergyman, 273

Smith, William (1769-1839), English
geologist and engineer, 543

Sonnenfels, Joseph von (1733-1817),
Austrian political philosopher, professor
at Vienna, 302, 323, 395-6

Sosius, see Zoesius, Thomas

Spain, Peter of, see John XXI

Spinoza, Baruch (1632-77), Dutch
philosopher, 599

Spouter, de, see Despauterius, Johannes

659

Name index

Stafforde, Robert (fl. 1608), commoner of
Exeter College, Oxford, geographer, 21

Stahl, Georg Ernst (1660-1734), German
medical doctor, professor at Halle, 546,
559, 614

Stanislas Augustus III, see Augustus III

Starkey, Thomas (c. 1490-1538), English
humanist and political philosopher, 33

Stensen, Niels (Nicolaus Steno, Stenonis,
Steensen) (1638-86), Danish natural
scientist, lived in Florence, 472-3

Stephani, Matthias (1576-1646), German
jurist, professor at Greifswald, 287

Stephanus, see Estienne, Henri

Stephen Bathory, see Bathory, Stephen

Steuco, Agostino (1497/8-1548), Vatican
librarian, 495-6, 502, 506

Stevin, Simon (1548-1620),
Flemish-Dutch mathematician and
engineer, 335 455 S75 467-8

Stewart, Dugald (1753-1828), Scottish
philosopher, professor at Edinburgh,
589

Stone, Laurence (20th c.), American
historian, 299, 302

Stuart, House of (1603-1714), 137, 262

Stubbe, Henry (1632-76), English
physician and author, fellow of Christ
Church, Oxford, 547

Sturm, John (Johannes Sturmius) (1507-
89), German Protestant educationalist,
founder of the Strasburg gymnasium,
29, 505 545 64-6, I17, 141, 203, 292,
3595 572

Stymmel, Christoph (1525-50), German
poet, 351

Suarez, Francisco (1548-1617), Spanish
Jesuit, philosopher and theologian,
professor at Segovia, Valladolid, Rome,
Alcalay¥Salamanca and Coimbra, 133,
494, 506, 511, 513, 518, 581, 596-7,
608

Sulpizio of Veruli, Giovanni Antonio
(Johannis Sulpicius Verulanus) (fl.
1475), Italian humanist, grammarian
and rhetorician, 571

Swieten, Gerhard van (1700-72), Dutch
medical doctor, professor at Vienna,
university reformer, 75, 142, 224, 375,
402, 615

Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745), Irish satirist
and novelist, 548

Sydenham, Thomas (1624-89), English
physician, fellow at All Souls College,
Oxford, 558

Sylvius, Jacques (1478-1555), French
anatomist, professor at Paris, 610

Sylvius Piccolomini, Aeneas, see Pius II

Tacitus (Publius Cornelius Tacitus)
(c. §§-120), Roman historian, 31, 573,
575, 576

Talon, Omer (fl. 1510-62), French
humanist, teacher of rhetoric at the
Collége du Cardinal Le Moine at Paris,
10

Tanucci, Bernardo (1698-1783), Italian
statesman, 636

Tartaglia, Niccolo (Nicolé Fontana
Tartalea) (1499-1559), Italian
mathematician, lecturer in Venice and
Brescia, 467

Telesio, Bernardino (1508-88), Italian
philosopher and scientist, 496

Terence (Publius Terentius Afer) (195-
159 BC), Latin comedian, 11

Thackray, Arnold (zoth c.), historian, 535

Theodosius I the Great (347-95), Roman
emperor, 294

Theophrastus (c. 371-c. 287 BC), Greek
botanist, pupil and friend of Aristotle,
470

Thomas Aquinas (1224/5-74), Italian
saint, Dominican theologian, professor
at Paris, 264, 494, 506, 5II, 566,
596-7, 602

Thomasius, Christian (1655-1728),
German philosopher and jurist,
professor at Halle, 23, 514-15, 602-3,
608, 633

Toland, John (1670-1722), Irish deist and
controversial freethinker, diplomat, 526

Tolosani, Joannes Maria (1470-1549),
Florentine Dominican, professor in
theology at Florence, 12

Torricelli, Evangelista (1608-47), Italian
physicist and mathematician, professor
at Florence, 553

Toscanelli, see Pozzo Toscanelli, Paolo
dal

Trautson, Johannes Josephus (1704-57),
archbishop of Vienna, 238

Trivolis, Michael, see Maxim the Greek

Tronchin, Louis (1629-1705), Swiss
metaphysician, 598

Tubal, biblical figure (Genesis), son of
Lamech, 33

Tudor, House of (1485-1603), 134, 136,
456

Tudor, Mary see Mary Tudor

Tullia (76-45 BC), daughter of Cicero, 40

Tully, see Cicero

Turgot, Anne Robert Jacques (1727-81),
baron de |’Aulne, French economist,
631

660

Name index

Turmaier, see Aventinus, Johannes

Turnébe, Adrien (Turnebus, Adrianus)
(1512-65), French humanist and
philologist, 574

Turner, S. (zoth c.), historian, 216

Turrettini family, professors at Geneva
(17th-18th c.), 228

Turrettini, Jean-Alphonse (1671-1737),
Swiss philosopher and theologian,
professor at Geneva, 598

Ubaldis, Baldus de, see Baldus de Ubaldis

Vadianus (Joachim von Watt) (1484-
1551), Swiss professor, poet, reformer
and rector of the University of Vienna,
20, 26

Valdés, Oviedo y (1478-1557), Spanish
chronicler, 21

Valentinian II (371-92), Roman emperor,
294

Valla, Lorenzo (1407-57), Italian legal
humanist and philologist, 460, 498

Varro (Marcus Terentius Varro) (116-27
BC), Latin author, 497

Vaudémont, René, duke of, see René II

Vavilov, S. I. (zoth c.), historian, 232

Vazquez, Gabriel (1549-1604), Spanish
theologian, 511

Venn, J. A. (zoth c.), historian, 409

Verger, Jacques (20th c.), French
historian, xxi, XXii

Vergerio, Pietro Paolo (1370-1444),
Italian humanist, bishop of Capodistria
in Hungary and professor of logic at
Bologna, 29

Vertrieu, see Poype de Vertrieu, Jean
Claude de la

Verulam, see Bacon, Francis

Vesalius, Andreas (Andries van Wesel)
(1514-64), Southern Netherlands
physician and anatomist, professor at
Louvain and Padua, 4, 34, 215, 537;
545, 559

Vespucci, Amerigo (1454-1512), Italian
navigator and discoverer, 12, 20

Vico, Giambattista (1668-1744), Italian
philosopher of cultural history,
professor at Naples, 16, 75, 526, 577

Victor Amadeus II (1666-1732), duke of
Savoy, 228, 238, 375

Viéte, Francois (1540-1603), French
mathematician, 45, 534

Viglius ab Aytta Zuichemus (Wigle Aytta
van Zwichem) (1507-77), Dutch jurist,
professor at Padua and Ingolstadt,
statesman, 244, 251

Villedieu, Alexander, see Alexander of
Villedieu

Villegas, see GOmez de Quevedo y
Villegas, Francisco

Villiers Saint-Paul, see Hotman, Francois

Vinnius, Arnoldus (Arnold Vinnen)
(1588-1657), Dutch jurist, professor at
Leiden, 601

Vio Cajetan, Thomas de (Cajetanus)
(1468/9-1534), Italian cardinal, 494

Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro) (70-19
BC), Latin poet, II, 20, 39, 573

Vitellius, Cornelius (c. 1450-c. 1500),
professor of classical literature and
rhetoric at Paris, 572

Vitoria, Francisco de (1486-1546),
Spanish theologian and jurist,
Dominican, professor at Valladolid and
Salamanca, 22, 23, 31, 494, 511, 608

Vittorino da Feltre see Feltre, Vittorino
Ramboldini da

Vives, Juan Luis (1492-1540),
Spanish-Flemish humanist and
educationalist, 35

Viviani, Vicenzo (1622-1703), Italian
mathematician, 482

Voet, John (Johannes Voetius) (1647-
1713), Dutch jurist, professor at
Herborn, Utrecht and Leiden, 601

Voltaire (pseudonym of Francois Marie
Arouet) (1694-1778), French
philosopher and author, 13, 40, 525,
527, 529, 577, 623, 628

Vossius, Gerardus Johannes (Gerrit Jansz.
Vos) (1577-1649), Dutch humanist,
theologian and philologist, professor at
Leiden and Amsterdam, 370, 502

Wagner, Georg (fl. 1570), German law
student in northern Italy, 434

Waldseemiiller, Martin (1470-1521),
German cartographer, 16, 19

Wallace, Alfred Russel (1823-1913),
English naturalist, 543

Wallingford, Richard of (c. 1292-1336),
English astronomer, 465

Wallis, John (1616-1703), English
mathematician, fellow of Queen’s
College, Cambridge and professor at
Oxford, 534

Walther, Bernard (d. 1504), assistant of
Regiomontanus at the Nuremberg
observatory and printing office, 471

Ward, John (1679?-1758), English
philosopher, fellow of Christ Church,
Oxford, 547

661

Name

Ward, Seth (1617-89), English
mathematician and professor of
anatomy at Oxford, 534, 547

Watt, see Vadianus

Weibrecht, Josias (1702-47), German
physiologist, professor at St Petersburg,
231

Weigel, Valentin (1533-88), German
Protestant Neoplatonian mystic, 496

Wenzel IV (1361-1419), king of
Bohemia, 114

Werner, Johannes (d. 1522), German
priest, assistant of Regiomontanus at
the Nuremberg observatory and
printing office, 471

Wesel, Andries van, see Vesalius, Andreas

Wesseling, Petrus (1692-1764), Dutch
historian, professor at Utrecht, 578

Westfall, R. S. (zoth c.), historian, 532,

541

Westphalia, John of (Johannes de
Westfalia Paderbornensis) (c. 1440/5-
c. 1502), German printer and publisher
at Louvain, 203

Whichcote, Benjamin (1609-83), English
Neoplatonic philosopher, 497

Whitgift, John (c. 1530-1604),
archbishop of Canterbury, 166

Wieland, Christoph Martin (1733-1813),
German poet, man of letters and
professor in philosophy at Erfurt, 40,
215, 225

Wijn, Hendrik van (1740-1831), Dutch
historian, scholar and statesman, 250-1

Wilkins, John (1614-1672), English
scientist and bishop of Chester, fellow
of Wadham College, Oxford, 547

William III (1650-1702), prince of
Orange, stadtholder of the United
Provinces, king of Great Britain (as
William III) and of Scotland (as
William II), 137

William the Silent, see Nassau, William I

Willis, Thomas (1621-75), English,
physician, anatomist and iatrochemist,
professor at Oxford and medical
practitioner, 547-8

Winckelmann, Johann Joachim (1717-
68), German archaeologist and art
historian, 526-7, 575

Wirtemberger family, professors at
Tubingen (15th-16th c.), 228

Witelo (1210-85), Silesian scholar, 589

index

Witherspoon, John (1723-94),
Scottish-American Presbyterian minister
and president of the College of New
Jersey, statesman, 277

Wolf, Friedrich August (1759-1824),
German classical scholar, professor at
Halle, 568, 575

Wolff, Christian (1679-1754), German
philosopher, mathematician and
scientist, professor at Marburg and
Halle, 18, 486, 511, 521, 528, 529,
585, 598, 603

Wolff, Johann Christoph (1685-1739),
German philologist, 525

Wordsworth, William (1770-1850),
English poet, 541

Wren, Christopher (1632-1723), English
mathematician and architect, fellow of
All Souls College, Oxford and professor
at Gresham College, London, 200, 543,
547

Wren, Matthew (1585-1667), bishop of
Ely, visiting fellow of All Souls College,
Oxford, 547

Wiirttemberg, Louis, duke of (1554-93),
248

Xerxes (c. 519-465 BC), king of Persia,
537

Ximénez de Cisneros, Francisco (1437-
1517), Spanish humanist, cardinal, 36,

460, 570

Yates, F. (zoth c.), historian, 532
Yelin, Christoph (d. 1610), German
sculptor, 248

Zamoyski, Jan (1542-1605), Polish
statesman, chancellor, 48, 67

Zasius, Udalricus (Ulrich Zasy, Zasy)
(1461-1535), German legal humanist,
professor in Freiburg. i. Br., 34

Zedler, Johann Heinrich (1706-63),
German scholar and publisher, 500

Zoesius, Thomas (Sosius, Zoes) (d. 1598),
Dutch jurist, professor at Leiden and
Wiirzburg, statesman, 226

Zwinger, Theodor (1533-88), German
medical doctor, professor at Basle, 34,
500

Zwingli, Ulrich (Huldreich Zwingli)
(1484-1531), Swiss humanist and
Protestant reformer, 117, 143, 504-5

662

SUBJECT INDEX

Aberdeen (United Kingdom, Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg,

Aberdeenshire), UNIVERSITY, 84, 86,
90, 159, 162, 273; colleges, 84, 86;
mobility, 439; New Aberdeen, 176;
officials, 163, 173

Abo, see Turku

academic associations, 26, 126, 155, 163,
352, 404, 407, 626; calendar, 351,
610; ethics, 6, 30, 274, 400, 404, 474,
492, 511, 556, 578, 587-8, 602; life,
224, 288, 300, 312-13, 316-20, 326-
30, 339-43, 352, 483, 5445
qualifications, 137, 289, 292, 314, 328,
484; staff, 168, 170, 174-5, 181, 199,
231, 237, 261, 277, 414, 463, 466;
status, 453; titles, 315

485; Accademia Fiorentina (Platonic
Academy), 9, 150, 232, 457, 481-2,
547-8, 553; Akademie der
Wisschenschaften in Berlin, 625

accommodation: board and lodging, 158-

9, 182, 187, 190-5, 315-16, 330, 333,
336-49, 473; bursa (student house),
158, 161, 327, 339, 3473 hall (aula),
136, 158, 161, 190, 194, 195, 200,
212, 220, 250, 302, 327, 333, 3355
336, 340, 341, 346, 350, 371, 464,
532, 533, 540, 576; hostel (hospitium),
3345 339-43, 345-6, 351, 402, 426,
456; martinets, 336; pedagogy, 158,
320; private, 158-9, 329, 335-7, 339,

academic rituals, see festivities

academies and learned societies, 26, 32-3,
36, 38, 44, 47-8, 50, $2735 56-9, 63-
4; 66, 68-9, 71-2, 775 80-1, 92, II7,
123, 127, 137, 139, I§0, 190, 193,
215, 2325, 2605273527 $ 5.280, 286,
319, 322, 324, 398, 405, 427, 433,
468-9, 478-86, 490, 494, 522, 532,
548, 556, 583, 586, 623, 625-38; see
also specialized schools |

Academies: Academia Carolina at Lund,
230; Academia Leopoldina at

342, 345-6, 3525 rent (pensio), 185,
188-9, 195, 242, 346; rooms, 120,
123, 192, 195, 200, 201, 203, 217,
218, 276, 317, 346, 347, 350, 361,
503, 536, 631; see also college
Act of Parliament, 136, 454; of
Supremacy, 134, 226, 372; of
Uniformity, 135, 137, 478
administration science, see cameralism
admission of students, 149, 246, 257,
263, 277, 225, 243, 285-325, 338,
364, 365, 371, 374, 375s 3775 3935
Schweinfurt, 484, 624; Académie 398, 399, 404, 433; requirements
d’agriculture, 632; Académie de for admission, 289-93, 325, 371-2,
chirurgie, 632; Académie de médicine, 375
632; Académie de sculpture et de agriculture, 258-9, 408; school in, 58-9,
peinture, 482; Académie des 123, 551, 625-6, 632, 636
inscriptions et belles lettres, Paris, 625; Aix-en-Provence (France, Bouches du
Académie frangaise, 482, 623; Rhone), Dominicans, 223; UNIVERSITY,
Académie Royale des Sciences, 40, 482, 83, 87, 90, 583; colleges, 87; law, 162;
484, 485, 545, 548, 5555 625, 6325 see also Gassendi, Pierre

663

Subject index

Alcala (Spain, Madrid), UNIVERSITY, 32,
36, 77, 84, 90, 129, 259, 297, 460,
506, 570, 581; attendance, 306-7, 322,
378; colleges, 157, 228, 291, 337, 391;
mobility, 436; officials, 172; printing,
202; privileges, 263, 291, 391;
professors, 236; see also Guzman y
Cerda, Maria Isidora, Quintina de;
Matamoros, A. Garcia; Suarez,
Francisco; Ximenes de Cisneros,
Francisco

alchemy and practical chemistry, 497,

552, 560

Alfort (Alfortville) (France,
Val-de-Marne), veterinary High School,
469

algebra, see mathematics

alma mater, see universities

Almagro (Spain, Toledo), UNIVERSITY,
85, 90, 434

Alost (Aalst) (Belgium, East Flanders),
203; see also Martens, Thierry

Alsace (France), students: 425

Altamura (Italy, Bari), UNIVERSITY, 89,

Altdorf (Germany, Bavaria), Gymnasium
philosophicum, 87; UNIVERSITY, 90,
159, 473; attendance, 314, 317;
buildings, 190; jurisdiction, 178;
library, 201; mobility, 435; officials,
179, 183

America, xxill, 16, 20-2, 256-82;
discovery, 5, 6, 12, 15, 465, 482, 510;
see Central America, North America,
South America, Spanish America

Amsterdam (Netherlands,
Noord-Holland), 37, 79, 499, 540;
botany, 192; careers, 412; Collegium
Medicum, 436; illustrious school, 52,
69, 78, 79, 405; students, 431; see also
Dwinglo, Bernard; Gerard, Etienne;
Gerard, Laurent

Anabaptism, 32,39

anatomy, teaching, 34, 470, 545-6, 551,
610; anatomical theatres, 38, 155, 192-
5> 454, 464, 473, 612

Ancients versus Moderns debate, 40-1,
S19-20, $37

Ancona (Italy, Ancona), 19; UNIVERSITY,
86, 90

Angers (France, Maine-et-Loire),
UNIVERSITY, 82, 90; degrees, 363; law,
162; mobility, 433-5; professors, 220,
224; Riding School, 431; see also
Gronovius, Johannes Fredericus

Anglican Church, 26, 119, 135, 137, 261,
273, 278, 280, 372, 381, 479, 5253
institutions, 226, 269, 478

Angouléme (France, Charente),
UNIVERSITY, 80

Anjou (France), graduates, 385

Antiquity, 5-43, 77, 78, 129, 205, 249,
295, 417, 4535 469, 492-7, 522, 527,
535-63 authors, 10, 14, 24, 39, 38-41,
525; history and sources, 5, 22, 30, 32,
46, 460, 574-6; knowledge and
sciences, 13, 19, 34, 522, 576;
languages, 20, 28, 567; medicine, 34,
501; mythology, 15; rhetoric, 498;
texts, 3, II, 12, 524, 531, 574; see
Greek, Latin

Antwerp (Belgium, Antwerpen), 19, 509;
printing, 202-3; students, 412-14,
430-1, 441-2

apothecary, see pharmacy

apprentice, see socius

Arabic world, 492, 580; chair, 129;
commentaries and textbooks, 452, 550;
language, 570, 589; medicine, 11

Aragon (Spain), UNIVERSITIES, 70, 132

Aranda (Spain, Burgos), 75

architecture, 9, 65, 190, 192, 195, 316,
375, 482

Argentina, 265

Aristotelianism, 133-4, 147, 468, 470,
490-502, 508, 510, 517, 521-3, 535-
7, 549-53, 556-8, 578-87, 589, 592,
594, 598, 613; Aristotelian mechanics,
468; metaphysics, 496, 508, 518, 522,
558; natural philosophy, 556;
philosophy, 502, 581; physics, 495,
522, 537, 586, 589; professors, 583,
590; sciences, 491-3, 498, 502, 518;
teaching, 118, 521, 580, 583, 590;
theology, 501

arms, 205, 249, 294, 369, 387; see
insignia, privileges

artes liberales, see liberal arts

artes mechanicae, see mechanical arts

artillery, see military

Artois (France), 358

arts faculties, see faculty of arts

arts, see liberal arts

Aschaffenburg (Germany, Bavaria),
UNIVERSITY, 84, 89

Asia, 6, 14-15, 17, 19-20, 577

assemblies, 167-70, 173, 177, 190, 220;
general assemblies, 162, 167-9, 171,
173, 177; faculty assemblies, 168-70;
senate, 168-9, 288; see councils

astrology, 18, 458, 497, 589

astronomy, 4, 9, 12, 18, 188, 211, 217,
235, 274, 462, 464, 466, 470, 473,
474, 484, 498, 522, 523, 527, 531,
534, 536 $37, 545, 549, 550, 582,

664

Subject index

586, 591; chair, 36, 235, 546;
Copernican, 471; instruments 472, 473,
538; Keplerian telescope, 473;
Ptolomaic, 589; tables, 347, 589;
Tychonic system, 557, 592

Asuncion (Paraguay), UNIVERSITY, 265

Augsburg (Germany, Bavaria), 19, 32,
434; Confession of, 478; Peace of, 5125
see also Wagner, Georg

Augustinians, 47, 264-5, 595

Austria, 31, 75, 120, 150, 156, 180, 206,
228, 314, 516, 600; cameralism, 374,
395; students, 402, 421-2, 424;
UNIVERSITIES, 323, 3395 375, 4213 see
also Sonnenfels, Joseph von; Swieten,
Gerhard von

authorities, passim

Averroism, 491, 501

Avignon (France, Vaucluse), 114, 140;
Dominicans, 223; seminary, 478;

_ UNIVERSITY, 82, 90

Avila (Spain, Avila), UNIVERSITY, 86, 90

Ayacucho (Peru, Huamanga),
UNIVERSITY, San Cristobal de
Huamanga, 265

Aztec empire, 16

baccalarius, see degrees

Baeza (Spain, Jaén), UNIVERSITY, 85, 90

Baltic countries, 148-9; academies, 71;
students, 413, 422; UNIVERSITIES, 440

Bamberg (Germany, Bavaria),
UNIVERSITY, 69, 88, 90, 425

baptism, 267, 273

Barbados (British island colony, West
Indies), 270

Barcelona (Spain, Barcelona), 322;
schools, 58, 79; UNIVERSITY, 83, 89,
90

Bartolism, 607

Basle (Switzerland, Basel-Stadt), 458, 476,
500; careers, 244; Council of, 19, 366;
printing, 202; UNIVERSITY, 70, 83, 90,
122, 143, 182, 573; botany, 192;
graduates, 367, 379; innovation, 470,
531, 543, 544; law, 244, 604; library,
196; mobility, 407-8, 419, 422, 424,
430-1, 433, 435, 470; officials, 182;
professors, 19-20, 34, 37, 228, 230,
244, 369, 433, 461, 470, 499, 524,
543-5, 608; see also Amerbach,
Bonifaz; Bernoullis; Brant, Sebastian;
Bronchorst, Everard; Calvin, John;
Castellio, Sebastian; Frobenius, Johann;
Glareanus, Henricus; Minster,
Sebastian; Paracelsus, Philippus;
Reuchlin, Johannes; Zwinger, Theodor

Bavaria (Germany), 141, 222, 424, 571;
UNIVERSITIES, 421; see also Aventinus,
Johannes; Maximilian, duke of Bavaria

Bayreuth (Germany, Bavaria),
UNIVERSITY, 89

bedellus, see officials, beadle

beer, 186, 233, 248, 332, 336, 347

Belgium, 637

Benedictines, 10, 133, 145, 631;
Benedictine UNIVERSITY, 89

Berlin (Germany), 79, 629; learned
societies, 484, 486, 486, 555, 625, 6355
Royal Library, 198; UNIVERSITY, xXx,
60, 549; Medicine, 402, 626, 635, 639;
professors, 41; see also Boeckh, August;
Paulsen, Friedrich

Berne (Bern) (Switzerland), 144, 476;
learned societies, 52, 117; UNIVERSITY,
230

Berwickshire (United Kingdom), 248

Besancon (France, Doulos), UNIVERSITY,
71, 83, 88, 90

Bible, see theology

Birmingham (United Kingdom, West
Midlands), 624

Blois (France, Loir-et-Cher), 126

board and lodging, see accommodation

Bogota (Colombia), academy, 265;
UNIVERSITY, 264-6

Bohemia, 314; bursae, 339; mobility, 422,
425, 426, 440-5

Bologna (Italy, Bologna), 230; academies,
150, 232, 625; mendicant orders, 223;
printing, 202, 459; UNIVERSITY, 22, 81,
90, 122, 171, §36; attendance, 171,
307-8, 319; botany, 192, 470, 610;
buildings, 192, 194; college, Spanish,
130, 160-1, 190, 294, 334, 3375 391;
420, 425; colleges, 155, 161, 339;
history, 547; medicine, 454, 609-10;
mobility, 418, 425-6, 434-6, 470;
models, 4, 47, 53, 64, 113, 129, 141,
257, 329; nations, 149, 161, 293-4;
officials, 76, 169, 179, 182; privileges,
149, 161, 294, 391; professors, 29,
155, 230, 247, 471, 607; statutes, 113,
141, 168; teaching, 50, 543-4;
theology, 506; women, 296; see also
Alciatus, Andreas; Aldrovandi, Ulissi;
Bartolus de Saxoferrato; Bassi, Laura;
Cardano, Girolamo; Copernicus,
Nicolas; Novara, Domenico Maria de;
Vergerio, Pietro Paolo

Bonn (Germany, North
Rhine-Westphalia), UNIVERSITY, 46, 90,
201; privileges, 89

665

Subject index

books, xxii, 6, 9, 22, 26, 27, 29, 31, 34,
38, 173, 185, 187, 196-204, 218, 220,
233, 297, 336, 342-6, 351, 417, 458,
459, 471, 485, 540, 547, 605, 624,
628; album amicorum, 432; battle of
the books, 459, 537; book owners,
187, 188; book production, 81, 177,
204, 215, 378, 467, 486, 500, 553,
554, 560, 624, 628; bookbinders, 175,
202; booksellers, sale, 175, 177, 198,
202-4, 218, 332; collections of books,
XXll, 194, 196, 199, $47, 5595 5995
605; stationer, 198; see also insignia,
libraries, printing, publishing, textbooks

Bordeaux (France, Gironde), 571;
Dominicans, 223; learned society, 193;
UNIVERSITY, 83, 91; buildings, 193;
Collége de Guienne, 133; professors,
233

Boston (USA, Massachusetts), learned
society, 280; see also Cambridge (USA)

botany, 21, 202, 469-70, 534, 615;
botanical garden, 38, 155, 192-5, 470,
545, 559, 612; chair, 470, 546, 610;
teaching, 202, 235, 275, 403, 470, 484,
534, 557, 609-10

Bourges (France, Cher), UNIVERSITY, 34,
70, 84, 91, 122, 125, 156, 608, 616-
17; attendance, 310; colleges, 340, 577;
degrees, 68; law, 34, 607; mobility,
419, 427, 433; Officials, 171;
professors, 34, 498; see also Alciatus,
Andreas; Cujas, Jacques; Hotman,
Francois

Brabant, duchy of (Belgium and
Netherlands), 145-6, 166, 388; careers,
252-4; humanism, 305; students, 378-
9, 384, 408

Brandenburg (Germany), 205; students,
120, 421, 446; see also Frederick
William

Braniewo (Braunsberg) (Poland, Elblag),
university college, 52, 86, 91, 425

Bratislava (Pozsony, Pressburg) (Slovakia),
UNIVERSITY, 84, 88, 89, 93

Braunsberg, see Braniewo

Braunschweig (Germany, Lower Saxony),
Collegium Carolinum, 469

Brazil, 22, 133; UNIVERSITIES, 266

Bremen (Germany, Bremen), 67;
illustrious school, 68, 118; privileges,
50; students, 357, 423, 435; see also
Gronovius, Johannes Fredericus

Breslau (Wroctaw)(Poland, Breslau), 365;
careers, 408; illustrious school, 68;
UNIVERSITY, 84, 89,91, 361

Brethren of the Common Life, see
Modern Devotion

Brittany (France), graduates, 385

Brno (Czech Republic, Moravia),
UNIVERSITY, 86, 90, 321

Brown University, see Rhode Island,
College of

Briinn, see Brno

Brussels (Belgium), 79, 201; Collegium
Medicum, 436; UNIVERSITY, 83, 90

Buda, see Budapest

Budapest (Hungary), 29; UNIVERSITY, 71,
83, 88, 91, 569

Buenos Aires (Argentina), UNIVERSITY,
265

buildings and other properties, 19, 65,
159, 181, 185-204, 245, 271, 333-5,
346, 467, 537; anatomical theatres, 38,
155, 192-5, 454, 464, 473, 612;
botanical gardens, 38, 155, 192-5, 470,
545, 559, 612; laboratories, 155, 192;
observatories, 155, 192, 471, 4735 5473
560; see also colleges, libraries, printing

Burghausen (Germany, Bavaria), 624

Burgo de Osma (Spain, Soria),
UNIVERSITY, 85, 91

bursa, see accommodation

Biitzow (Germany,
Mecklenburg-Vorpommern),
UNIVERSITY, 83, 89, 91

Byzantium, 461; see also Lascaris, John

Cabalism, 490, 495-6, 502, 508

Cadiz (Spain, Cadiz), 263

Caen (France, Calvados), Dominicans,
223; UNIVERSITY, 83, 91, 196, 576;
mobility, 433, 434; see also Hallé,
Antoine

Cagliari (Italy, Cagliari), UNIVERSITY, 72,
74, 87, 91

Cahors (France, Lot), UNIVERSITY, 82,
gI

Cal Tech, see Pasadena

Calatayud (Spain, Zaragoza), 322

Calcutta (India, West Bengal state), 20

Calvinism, 10, 32, 37, 50, 53, 65, 72;
II7, 120, 121, 138, 272, 299, 368,
372, 381, 390, 438, 440, 446, 479,
SOI, 509, 513, 514, $84, 598, 604

Calvinist academies, 50, 478; schools,
126, 144, 476; universities, 50, 64, 68,
118, 126, 141, 143, 226, 421-3, 446,
508

Cambridge (United Kingdom,
Cambridgeshire), 541; UNIVERSITY, 36,
38, 52, 81, 91, 456, 466, $32, 551,
574; assemblies, 168-9; astronomy,

666

Subject index

235; attendance, 178, 273, 299, 302,
312-13, 316, 378; buildings, 190;
colleges, 34, 158, 166, 200, 208, 212,
334, 340, 433, 464, 534; degrees, 168,
207; Enlightenment, 627, 638;
examination, 291, 371; festivities, 207;
Hebrew, 570; history, 575; jurisdiction,
178; law, 604; library, 197-8;
mathematics, 235, 535, 545 5545 585;
590; mobility, 408, 411; 428-9;
models, 260-1; Neoplatonic school,
497, 508, 519, 527, 580; officials, 168,
172, 174, 181; philosophy, 235, 584;
physics, 472; printing, 175, 202-4;
professors, 210-12, 217, 224, 226,
235; reformation, 13 5-6; statutes, 166;
teaching, 50, 222, 462, 472, 542-7,
557-8, 579; Toleration Act, 479;
tutorial system, 557, 568, 579, 618; see
also Bacon, Francis; Barrow, Isaac;
Bentley, Richard; Caius, John;
Cudworth, Ralph; Erasmus, Desiderius;
Glisson, Francis; Gostling, Henry;
Harvey, William; Holdsworth, Richard;
Newton, Isaac; Whitgift, John

Cambridge (USA, Massachusetts),
Harvard University, 267, 272-80

cameralism (Cameralwissenschaft), 46,
123, 142, 315, 326, 362, 374, 383,
395-6, 409, 432, S10, 515-16, 527,
588, 603-6, 624, 625; schools in public
administration, 46, 58, 123, 625-6,
635; training in, 327, 374, 433

Camerino (Italy, Marcerata), UNIVERSITY,
89, 91

Canada, 267-8, 270, 280, 576

canon law, see law

Cape St Vincent (Portugal, Algarve),
hydrographic office, 465

Caracas (Venezuela), UNIVERSITY, 265

careers, see professions

Caribbean islands (Caribbean Sea, Lesser
Antilles), 258

Carmelites, 475

Carolina North and South (USA), 258

Carte Pisane, 465

Cartesianism, 45, 423, 489, 584-7, 592-
35 598, 602-3, 614

Castile (Spain), 268, 364-5, 404, 604,
608; Council, 131, 222, 318, 357, 390-
I; UNIVERSITIES, 129, 221; attendance,
299, 310-11; degrees, 365; law, 604;
mobility, 436; professors, 228

Catalonia (Spain), 67, 76, 459;
UNIVERSITIES, 89

Catania (Italy, Catania), UNIVERSITY, 83,
91, 168, 172, 182

catedraticos, see chairholders

Catharism, 32

Catholic countries and states, 53, 63,
122, 126, I§1, 160, 179, 181, 292,
303, 330, 334, 339, 3515 375, 378,
3795 424-6, 442, 463, 477, 506, 584,
586, 592, 604, 613, 621, 627, 6355
authorities, 70, 127, 130, 380, 390

Catholic universities, 29, 31, 46, 50, 52,
55> 74, 91, I17, 120, 145, 223, 226,
267, 304, 313, 362, 421, 424, 427,
430, 479, 492, 494, 506, 582, 600;
academies, 48; institutions, 88, 634;
faculties, 381, 595, 596, 603;
professors, 475, 597, 613; students,
149, 440

Catholicism, passim; see
Counter-Reformation

celebrations, see festivities

Celle (Germany, Lower Saxony), 625

Celtic cunning, 589

Central America, 14, 257-93
UNIVERSITIES, 275, 280

ceremonies, see festivities

Cervera (Spain, Lérida), UNIVERSITY, 82-
3, 85-7, 89, 91

chair of anatomy, 545-6; Arabic, 129;
astronomy, 36, 235, 545-6; botany,
470, §45-6, 610; canon law, 72;
chemistry, 546; civil law, 72; dialectics,
36; eloquence, 28, 31, 36; French law,
128, 233; geometry, 545-6; grammar,
36; Greek, 36-7, 462, 470; Hebrew,
36; history, 36, 575; humanities, 20;
mathematics, 36, 235, 545, 5913
medicine, 72, natural sciences, 137;
philosophy, 40, 545, 587; physics, 36,
472; poetry, 36; surgery, 453; theology,
22, 36, 72, 220, 504

chairs or professorships, 20, 22, 28, 38,
65-8, 795 129, 132, 139, 145, I5S5;5
168-9, 186-8, 220-3, 227, 232-3,
238-42, 244, 296, 336, 344-5, 402,
453-5, 462, 470-2, 531, 544-6, 587,
599, 604, 617; Lady Margaret chair
in theology, 220; Linacre lectureship,
235, 545; Lutheran chair, 84;
Newtonian chair, 472, 586; regius
chairs, 36, 211, 213, 222; Savilian
chair, 235, 545; Scotist chair, 597;
Suarist chair, 597; see also professors,
teaching

Chambéry (France, Savoy), UNIVERSITY,
80

chancellor (cancellarius), 4, 30, 48, 166-
9, 17273, £77-81; 188, 204, 230, 2535

667

Subject index

chancellor (cancellarius) (cont.)
331, 462, 474, 495; pro—chancellor,
I

Charleville-Méziéres (France, Ardennes),
specialized school, 58

chemistry, 46, 195, 540, 547, 551-25
chair, 546; teaching, 38, 235, 275, 403,
484, 532, 551-2, 559, 604, 611, 618;
see also iatrochemistry

Chelmno, see Kulm

Chile, 264-5, 270

Chioggia (Italy, Venezia), 15

Christendom, Christianism, Christianity,
6, 22, 23,28, 325 TAs 1225 129; 130;
134, 258, 273, 294, 298, 312, 445,
474, 495, 502-3, SIO-II, 523, 526,

535, 537s 5725 580, 584, 594-5, 598;
Christian Cabala, 496, 502; Christian

dogma, 24; Christian humanists, 594

Chuquisaca, see La Plata

church, passim; Church Fathers, 20, 32,
38, 525

Ciceronianism, 24-5, 28, 35, 340, 490,
496-502, 505, 507, 508, 517-19, 524-
6; see name index sub Cicero

civil law, see law

Clausthal (Germany, Lower Saxony),
specialized schools, 58, 469

Clermont (France, Puy-de-Déme), 319

clock, 335, 464, 465

Codrington bequest, 270

Coimbra (Portugal, Coimbra),
UNIVERSITY, 82, 91, 132, 193, 465-6;
attendance, 130, 299, 306 307, 311;
colleges, 133, 293; Enlightenment, 134;
library, 195, 201; mobility, 420, 425;
models, 266; philosophy, 424, 581;
privileges, 133; statutes, 133, 636;
teaching, 50, 133; theology, 506; see
also Aristotle; Nufiez, Pedro

college-universities, 48, 53, 63, 85, 155,
172, 338

colleges, 21, 48, 53-45 59> 65, 80, 82-3,
88-90, 92, 118, 125-6, 131, 136, 143,
150, 155, 158, 166, 168-9, 172-6,
180-1, 183, 185, 189, 193, 195-7;
199, 200-1, 205, 206-8, 211-12, 220,
222, 229, 233, 235-6, 242, 245, 250-
I, 290-2, 309-10, 313, 329, 336, 343-
9, 351-2, 370-1, 375-6, 380-2, 398,
407, 420, 427, 433, 462, 466, 469,
4755 477, 483, 497, 504, 506-17, 532-
5> 547 $64, 567-9, 573, 577, 618,
626, 631, 635-6; college privileges,
331, 333, 463-4; statutes, 212, 217,
343, 349; students (colegiales), 181,
242, 391

colleges for nobles (Riterakademien), 159,
317-22, 432; colléges de plein exercice,
63, 157, 557; colonial colleges, 256-82;
trilingual colleges (collegia trilinguia)
36, 575 145, 157, 203, 418, 461, 570;
see also illustrious schools, Jesuits,
medical colleges

colleges, national: Dutch collegia
nationalia, 164; English, 161, 280, 480;
German, 117, 121, 161, 359, 392, 429;
Hungarian, 117, 121, 161, 392, 429;
Irish, 49, 161, 429, 480; Roman, 429;
Scottish, 138-9; Spanish college at
Bologna, 130, 160-1, 190, 294, 334,
3375 391, 420, 425

collegiate school, 267, 269; collegiate
system, 136, 333-95 462

Cologne (Germany, North
Rhine-Westphalia), 46; Dominicans,
461; Gymnasium Tricoronatum, 60, 83;
UNIVERSITY, 83, 91, 461; buildings,
194; colleges, 359; degrees, 435;
mobility, 412-13, 421, 425, 429, 440;
officials, 171, 179, 182; professors, 219

colonies, 21, 37, 134, 66, 72, 83, 256-
82, 390, 405, 407, 429, 438, SII;
colonial universities, 259-82

Columbia, see New York

Columbia University, see New York,
King’s College

comes palatinus, see count palatine

commensales, see commoners

commentaries (commentum or
commentarium), 34, 221, 466, 494,
502, $03, 524, 540, 549, 566, 574,
581, 589, 601

commerce, 15, 19, 23, 37, 58, 78, 202,
248, 262, 274, 275, 280, 392, 399,

407-9, 413, 465, 480, 539, 554, 579,
606; school in, 58

commoners (commensales), 249, 313,
314, 317, 323, 360, 382, 389, 441,
568

communication, 7, 14, 16, 24, 26-8, 33,
II5, 174, 225, 281, 485, 486, 499,
569, 617

concilium generale, see assembly

Conference of European Rectors, see CRE

congregatio generalis, see assemblies

Connecticut (USA), 269, 272, 279;
collegiate school, 267; Yale University,
267, 269, 272-3, 276-8

consilium, see consultation

consistorium, see assemblies

Constance (Switzerland-Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemberg), Council of, 205,
366; UNIVERSITY, 83

668

Subject index

Constantinople (Istanbul) (Turkey), 5, 10,
249, 461; students, 430

consultation (consilium sapientum, expert
opinion), 130, 178, 180, 204, 352

controversies, 10, 215, 220, 278, 352,
507, 509, 593

convent-universities, 63

Copenhagen (Denmark), academy, 322,
485; veterinary High School, 469;
UNIVERSITY, 70, 76, 84, 91, 147, 186,
191; botany, 612; jurisdiction, 177;
library, 196, 201; mobility, 439;
officials, professors, 226-7, 472-3, 475,
543-4, 592, 608, 625; see also
Bartholin; Brahe, Tycho; Hemmingsen,
Niels; Longomontanus, Christian;
Stensen, Niels

Copernicanism, 24, 471, 534, 552, 5575
584, 592

Cérdoba (Argentina, Tucuman),
UNIVERSITY (Colegio de Cordoba del
Tucuman), 265-6, 271

corporations (corpora), 135, 157, 173;
175, 188, 205, 272, 415, 451-3, 464,
558

Corte (France, Corsica), UNIVERSITY, 89,
gI

Coruna (Spain, La Corufia), 625

cosmology, 549, 557; 586, 592-3

councils, academic: 156, 168-9, 172-4,
183, 214, 222, 228

councils, civil: Indian Council, 15, 261,
390; municipal councils, 138-9, 143-5,
149, 159, 178-9, 221, 234, 253, 388,
412-14; princely and royal councils,
118, 121, 126, 131, 141-4, 178, 218,
221-2, 228, 252-3, 318, 357, 388,
390, 412-14, 435, 5753 provincial
councils, 178, 218, 252-3, 357, 388,
412-14

councils, ecclesiastical: 4, 114, 124, 140,
165, 218, 575, 599; Council of Basle,
19; of Constance, 205, 366; of Trent,
63, 72, 218, 226, 368, 428, 477, 505-
6, 518; of Vienna, 35; Fourth Lateran
Council, 452-3, 593; Second Vatican
Council, 478

count palatine (palsgrave), 183, 369, 426

Counter-Reformation, 3, 36, 37, 45, 66,
71-2, 130, 133, I4I, 146, 149, I61,
I9I, 204, 215, 293, 299, 310, 419,
421, 424, 425, 428, 502, 506, 513,
556, 596, 617, 626, 631, 6373
Contra-Reformatorial universities, 115—-
22, 480

Court of Chancery, 456

Cracow (Poland, Krak6w), UNIVERSITY,
475 50, 52, 66, 82, 91, 123, 205, 328;
attendance, 299, 306; colleges, 190,
330; degrees, 364; finance, 186;
jurisdiction, 177; library, 201; mobility,
440-1; Officials, 181; privileges, 146;
professors, 249, 471, 543, 591; see also
Copernicus, Nicolas

CRE, xix, xxi

Crete (Greece), 440

criticism, 5, 16, 56, 61, 137, 240, 250,
264, 344, 370, 458, 475, 509, 520,
524-6, $40, 571, 575, 5795 580, 614,
616, 622-4, 631, 635; textual criticism,
458, 498

Croatia, students, 422

Cromwellian period, 504-5

Cuzco (Peru, Cuzco), UNIVERSITY (San
Antonio), 265

Cyprus, 440
Czech Republic, students, 425, 428, 433

Dalmatia, students, 422

dance teacher, 175

Danzig (Gdansk) (Poland, Gdansk), 21,
473; see also Hevelius, Johannes;
Keckermann, Bartholomaeus

Dartmouth (United Kingdom, Devon),
468

Dartmouth College, see Hanover

dean (decanus), 163, 168-70, 175, 177,
179, 206-7, 217, 253, 363, 367

Declaration of Independence, 277

degrees, 22, 31, 49-52, 50, 61-2, 65-71,
74, 81-2, 85-9, 125, 127, 136, 144,
148, I§1, 157-8, 168-70, 180, 183,
207, 213-15, 219-20, 226, 241, 244,
247, 258, 263-7, 270-9, 289-97, 301-
25 39S, 309, 312, 355-414, 419-20,
426-7, 431-8, 440-2, 444, 454, 461,
463, 466, 471, 504, 507, 536-7, 540,
555, 558, 564, 567, 589, 610, 612; in
law, 357, 379, 388, 398, 413, 414, 431

degrees: bachelor (baccalarius,
baccalaureate), 90, 211, 292-3, 356,
434; doctor, doctorate, 4, 61, 170, 179,
183, 2IO-II, 219, 244-5, 249, 294-7,
313, 332, 356-60, 363-8, 370, 372,
401, 403, 404, 419, 431-4, 437, 612;
doctor bullatus, 183; doctor honoris
causa, 183; doctor legitimae promotus,
183; licentia, 224, 293, 475; master of
arts (magister artium), 30, 43, 64-5,
136, 154-5, I61, 166, 168-76, 190,
211, 213, 219, 236, 244, 250, 253,
266, 271, 277, 278, 289, 292, 318,
3275 333-45 3375 349, 343-5 349;

649

Subject index

degrees (cont.)

358-65, 376, 378, 381, 409, 451, 457,
463-4, 467, 472, 539, 544, 580, 584,

594, 613
Delft (Netherlands, Zuid-Holland), 192;

careers, 411

Denmark, 31, 147, 196, 472, 475, 5833
education of nobles, 322; students, 373,
382, 439; see also Brahe, Tycho

Derby (United Kingdom, Derbyshire), 625

determination, see examination

Deventer (Netherlands, Overijssel),
illustrious school, 52

dialectics, 264, 344, 345, 457s 462, 4975
581; chair in, 36

Dickinson College, see Philadelphia

Die (France, Dréme), UNIVERSITY, 87, 91,
476

Dijon (France, Céte d’Or), UNIVERSITY,
89, 91, 128, 156, 236

Dillingen (Germany, Bavaria),
UNIVERSITY, 85, 91, 117; Jesuits, 292;
mobility, I21, 304, 313-14, 317, 425

dispensation, see privileges

disputation (disputatio), 28, 273, 275,
344-5, 361, 376

Dissenters, 260, 262, 275, 429, 438

dissertations or theses, 4, 13, 202, 237,
337, 349, 361, 366, 371, 534, 564

divine law, see canon law

doctor, see degrees

doctrines, 24, 32, 295, 446, 478, 537,
551, 553, 556

Dole (France, Jura), UNIVERSITY, 83, 88,
91; mobility, 419-21, 436

Dominicans, 131, 223, 262, 264-6, 461,
494, 505, 596, 608

Dordrecht (Netherlands, Zuid-Holland),
390; students, 411

Dorpat, see Tartu

Douai (France, Nord-Pas-de-Calais),
specialized school, 58; UNIVERSITY, 66,
86, 91, 157, 160, 166; attendance, 305;
colleges, 161, 292; degrees, 369;
Jesuits, 292; library, 196; mobility,
420, 425, 429, 436-7, 480; privileges,
146; professors, 215, 237; statutes, 64;
theology, 215; see also Delcourt,
Adrien

Dresden (Germany, Saxony), 79;
specialized school, 58, 60

dress, 206-8, 246, 248, 271, 312, 316,
3325 3395 342, 347-S0

Dublin (Ireland), 480; learned society,
624; UNIVERSITY (Trinity College), 86,
91; buildings, 190; festivities, 207;

library, 195, 200-1; officials, 172;
Statutes, 166, 208

Duisburg (Germany, North Rhine-
Westphalia), UNIVERSITY, 88, 91, 205;
attendance, 304, 433, 435; buildings,
194-5; degrees, 68; library, 201;
privileges, 50

Durham (United Kingdom, Durham),
UNIVERSITY, 53, 80

Diisseldorf (Germany, North Rhine-
Westphalia), UNIVERSITY, 73

economy (oeconomos), 174; political
economy, 510, 515-17

Ecuador, 264

Edinburgh (United Kingdom), 272;
UNIVERSITY, 57, 74, 86, 91, 273;
attendance, 301; colleges, 159;
Enlightenment, 123, 140, 438, 617,
638; graduates, 386, 403; law, 604;
mathematics, 554; medicine, 228-9,
248, 402-3, 546, 559, 609, 611;
mobility, 279, 435; printing, 203;
professors, 222, 228-9, 234-5, 248,
546, 559, 569, 589, 611, 614; statutes,
138; see also Black, Joseph; Cullen,
William; Stewart, Dugald

Edinburgh Review, 243

education, passim; educational reforms,
IO, 29, 49, 65, 77, 172, 180-1, 606;
educational system, 72, 125, 132, 134,
138, 147, 162, 631; pedagogy, 18, 50,
54, 65, 289, 321, 322, 463, 5545
pre-university education, 126;
vocational training, 58-9

Eichstaitt (Germany, Bavaria), seminary,
478

El Mina (Ghana), Portuguese colony, 465

eloquence, 29, 40, 498; chair, 28, 31, 36

encyclopaedias, 21, 38, 491, 498-500,
524; Encyclopédie, 423, 500, 628, 632

England, 21, 31, 71, 464, 482-3,.494,
514, 537; academies and learned
societies, 16, 260, 262, 275, 465, 5553
careers, 411; Church of England, 53,
134, 136, 226, 277, 478; civil war,
137, 394; clergy, 390, 477; colonies,
258-9, 260, 268-70, 272-3, 279, 280,
392; court, 34, 261; Dissenters, 260,
262, 275, 429; English Revolution, 300,
390, 446, 513, 531; Enlightenment,
137, 516, 617, 621; government, 21,
33, 178, 473; humanism, 11, 135, 595;
languages, 30, 33, 166, 275, 341, 433,

438, 457, 459, 569; law, 52, 135, 384,
389, 411, 455-6; literature, 33;

Protestants 269, 326, 362, 596;

670

Subject index

schools, 33, 49, 523; UNIVERSITIES, XiX,
49, §8, 77, 123, 262; attendance, 299,
301-2, 311-13, 316-17, 389; colleges,
118, 158, 250, 280, 290-1; collegiate
system, 136, 333-6, 462; degrees, 363,
380; Enlightenment, 137, 140, 638;
examination, 371-2; festivities, 351;
Greek, 461; insignia, 206; law, 327,
431, 456, 604; library, 200;
mathematics, 535; medicine, 559;
military, 31; mobility, 163, 272, 299,
310, 328, 347, 388, 390, 392, 411,
426, 428-9, 433, 437-8, 443, 446,
480, 559, 624; nations, 161; natural
sciences, 628; nobles, 312; officials,
172, 179, 181; philosophy, 579, 585;
printing, 198; professors, 223, 235-6,
244, 247; scholarships, 320, 329, 338,
340, 345, 464; teaching, 212, 242, 245;
theology 478-9, 504-5; tutorial system,
327, 335; see also Cambridge, Great
Britain; London; Oxford; Caius, John;
Charles I; Colet, John; Moryson, Fynes

Enlightenment, 56, 75, 121-4, 132, 139,
T42y 144s 24559205. 3235 337,402,
436, 439, 477, 509, SII, 514, 516-17,
521-9, 539, 555-6, 560, 587-9, 594,
609, 617, 621-39; enlightened
despotism, 225, 515-17; enlightened
universities, 120, 123-9, 134, 137, 140,
227, 486, 516, 621-39; see UNIVERSITY
reforms

Eperjes, see Presov

Epicurianism, 32

Episcopalians, 139

Eppingen (Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemberg), 443

Erasmian learning, 145, 495; see in name
index sub Erasmus

Erfurt (Germany, Thuringia), UNIVERSITY,
67, 82, 91; attendance, 314; graduates,
386; library, 196, 199; officials, 182;
professors, 40, 225, 237; see also
Wieland, Christoph Martin

Erlangen (Germany, Bavaria), Academy of
Nobles, 91; UNIVERSITY, 74, 89

Ermland (Warmia) (Poland), Teutonic
Order, 471

Escorial (Spain, Madrid), UNIVERSITY, 86,
91, 200

Estella (Spain, Navarre), UNIVERSITY, 86,
91

Ethiopia, 20

Eton (United Kingdom, Buckinghamshire),
college, 158

Evora (Portugal, Evora), UNIVERSITY, 66,
85, 91, 133, 134, 287-8, 425, 506,

636; Jesuits, 292; see also Molina, Luis;
Pereyra, Benito

examination, 49, 62, 80, 117, 138-9,
145, 158, 195, 214, 220-1, 289, 291,
295, 2975 315, 321, 324, 328, 331-5,
338, 343, 356-7, 361-6, 370-7, 401-5,
426, 437, 532, 558, 565, 594, 602,
608, 612; determination, 114, 120;
failure, 38, 131, 319, 456, 465, 469,
5593 Inception or inauguration
(inceptio), 129, 140, 270-2, 350, 491,
569; see also dissertation

exercises (exercitia), 30, 271, 334, 338,
340-3, 364, 460, 571

faculties, xxiii, passim; faculty of arts, 54,
63-4, 69, 77, 81, 86, 89, 92, 126, 133,
141-2, 148, 156-7, 170, 234, 237,
240, 245-7, 254, 271, 279, 289-90,
293, 296, 304, 307-10, 319-21, 339,
358-9, 363, 378, 380, 385, 391, 396,
407, 409-10, 412, 432, 457-70, 475,
477, 547, 548, 570-93, 631; faculty of
law, 135, 141, 455-7, 599-608; faculty
of medicine, 452-5, 608-18; faculty of
theology, 63, 81, 126, 141-2, 157,
169-70, 213, 260, 381, 425, 455, 474-
8, 504-6, 593-9; Jesuit faculties, 69,
81, 92, 126, 133, 141-2, 157, 293,
359, 378, 506, 596, 631; Protestant
faculties, 63, 595, 600, 635

false students, see students

female students, see women

fencing, 175, 318, 352, 432, 460; fencing
teacher, 175

Fermo (Italy, Ascoli Piceno), UNIVERSITY,
86, 91

Ferrara (Italy, Ferrara), 34, 83, 91, 471,
543; UNIVERSITY, attendance, 307-8;
botany, 610; mobility, 417-18;
philosophy, 579; professors, 34, 496;
see also Copernicus, Nicolas;
Leoniceno, Niccol6; Patricius,
Franciscus

festivities, 154, 161, 174-5, 180, 183,
188-9, 192, 194-5, 206-7, 214, 246,
313, 332, 3375 362, 365; student
ceremonies, 349-51

finance, 154, 173, 183-9, 253, 261, 3245
collectae, 344; expenditure, 184-5, 189,
276, 317, 363, 426; fees, 185-8, 197,
213-14, 233-7, 242-5, 252, 276, 285,
327, 3335 336, 338, 344-7, 432, 434,
4373 fiscus academicus, 175; gifts, 185,
216, 318, 365, 637; income, 184-8;
taxes, 174, 184, 186, 233, 252, 276,
286, 313, 316, 369

671

Subject index

Finland, 237; students, 311 , 409, 439
Florence (Italy, Firenze), 17-18, 30, 149,
467, 553, 577; academies, 150, 232,
481-2, 547-8, 553; court, 24, 150,
232, 472, 544; humanism, 10, 14, 30;
medicine, 17; philosophy, 8, 496, 502,

509; UNIVERSITY, Greek, 10; mobility,

418, 473; see also Ficino, Masilio;
Galilei, Galileo; Guicciardini,
Francesco; Pozzo Toscanelli, Paolo dal;
Plato

food, 159, 164, 182, 332, 338-9, 341,
346-7, 426, 442-3

France, 67, 74, 146, 304, 316, 326, 402,
419, 422, 427-31, 469, 482-4, 512,
588-9, 597, 612, 624, 634; academies
and specialized schools, 16, 405, 432,
481, 485; careers, 370, 411; civil wars,
513; clergy, 127, 427; colonies, 257;
culture, 316, 482; education, 632;
French Revolution, 3, 14, 46, 124, 132,
190, 196, 201, 461, 480, 558; Gallican
institutions, 120, 124; humanism, 11,
125, 495, 499; Jesuits, 330; kings, 9,
34; 2275 372s 4705/4735 5113
languages, 269, 275, 341, 416, 456,
479, 482, 571, 627; law, 34, 128, 510,
512; literature, 32, 628; medicine, 12,
402, 404; mendicant orders, 223;
military, 31, 148; nobility, 314, 392;
parliament, 166, 178, 388, 485;
Protestantism, 476, 501, 596; schools,
126, 270, 317, 399, 401; seminaries,
478; UNIVERSITIES, 13, 49, 58, 70-1,
77-8, 119, 138, 6333; archives, 201;
assemblies, 168; astronomy, 557;
attendance, 300, 309-11, 383, 385,
395, 479; botany, 193, 612; colleges,

53> 63, 1575 290, 319, 329, 359, 463,
557; collegiate system, 333-8; degrees,

159, 363, 366, 381, 385, 395;
Enlightenment, 124-9, 628, 631, 636,
637; examination, 371-2; faculties,
156, 170; festivities, 350-1; Greek,
461; jurisdiction, 178; law, 128, 162,
221, 413, 445, 455, 607; library, 196,
198, 200; mathematics, 482, 593;
medicine, 156; mobility, 418, 421-2,
424, 427, 433, 435-7; New Science,
557; Officials, 180, 182, 251;
professors, 186, 216, 219-20, 227,
233, 236-7, 241, 243, 247-9; research,
320, 555; scholasticism, 492; statutes,
165-7, 563; teaching, 175, 360, 566;
theology, 504-6; see also Calvin, John;
Cujas, Jacques; Lefévre d’Etaples,

Jacques; Malebranche, Nicolas de;
Ramus, Petrus

Franche-Comté (France), students, 418,
422

Franciscans (or Minors), 262, 266, 268

Franeker (Netherlands, Friesland), 195;
UNIVERSITY, 86, 91; buildings, 195;
careers, 407-8; colleges, 407; graduates,
379; jurisdiction, 177; library, 200;
mobility, 423, 430; professors, 233,
241, 247, 574

Frankfurt-on-Main (Germany, Hesse),
printing, 204; UNIVERSITY, 82, 90, 369

Frankfurt-on-Oder (Germany,
Brandenburg), careers, 407-8;
UNIVERSITY, 67, 73, 84, 91, 120, 122;
attendance, 378; cameralism, 374, 603;
Jews, 295; library, 198-9; nations, 162;
professors, 234, 365; see also
Hermann, Zacharias

Frauenburg (Frombork) (Poland, Elblag),

Fredericton (Canada, New Brunswick),
UNIVERSITY, 270

Freiberg (Germany, Saxony), specialized
school, 58, 469

Freiburg im Breisgau (Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemberg), UNIVERSITY, 70,
83, 91, 142, 143; attendance, 313;
library, 199; mobility, 244, 425;
professors, 20-1, 34, 216; see also
Glareanus, Henricus; Gdis, Damito de;
Mynsinger, Joachim; Zasius, Ulrich

freshman, see students

Friesland (Netherlands), UNIVERSITY, 407;
students, 411, 422-3

Frombork, see Frauenburg

Fronde, 300, 383

Fulda (Germany, Hesse), UNIVERSITY, 89,

Galicia (Spain), 292

games, 26, 177, 342, 343, 352

Gandersheim (Bad Gandersheim)
(Germany, Lower Saxony),
UNIVERSITY, 86

Gandia (Spain, Valencia), 67;
UNIVERSITY, 70, 85, 91, 434

Gdansk, see Danzig

Geneva (Switzerland, Genéve), 7, 144,
272, 476, 478, 502, 513, 5405
UNIVERSITY, 74, 85, 91, 118, 476, 4795
attendance, 299; buildings, 190;
degrees, 50; mobility, 120-1, 421, 422,
428, 446; New Science, 557;
philosophy, 584; privileges, 50, 117;

672

Subject index

professors, 228, 230; theology, 504; see
also Béze, Théodore de; Calvin, John

Genoa (Italy, Genoa), 19, 480;
UNIVERSITY, 84, 91, 543; see also
Cassini, Giovanni

geography, 20-1, 465, 575-7; teaching,
575-8

geometry, 12, 188, 211, 217, 235, 274,

466, 468, 498, 522, 538, 545, 5525
5575 593; Chair, 546; Euclidean
geometry, 554, 557, 589, 590, 5925 see
also mathematics

German nations, see Bologna, Louvain,
Orléans, Padua, Paris, Perugia, Prague,
Siena

Germany (Holy German Empire), 4, 46-
7, 50-1, $9, 66-8, 70, 72-4, 77, 117,
126, 129, 177, 231, 301, 323, 326-7,
367-8, 388, 392, 461-3, 476, 512,
521, 526, 595-6, 634-5, 638;
academies and learned societies, 71,
432, 481, 484; careers, 413; education,
23, 40; emperors, 49-50, 426, 438,
511; Enlightenment, 120, 225, 227,
486; humanism, 9-10, 20, 33-4;
idealism, 633; Jesuits 330, 341; law,
250, 384, 515, 601-2, 604; medicine,
404, 559; nationalism, 503;
Protestantism, 10, 501, 513, 581;
schools, 330, 341, 401, 5725
UNIVERSITIES, 60, 63-5, 140-3;
admission, 478; assemblies, 168, 170;
astronomy, 17; attendance, 234, 299,
303-4, 311, 313-14, 317; cameralists,
395, 516; colleges, 63, 164, 334, 339,
359; degrees, 363 364; dress, 207, 248-
9, 316; examination, 373, 401;
Enlightenment, 123, 629, 633;
gymnasia illustra, xxi, 63, 291;
insignia, 205-6; Jews, 295, 4303
languages, 12, 416, 569; law, 213, 218,
383-4, 578, 601, 604, 608; libraries,
195 197; mobility, 147, 163, 294, 319,
328, 342, 346, 387, 416-19, 421-2,
425-37, 440-3, 446, 477; models, 64,
117, 147, 329-30, 607; nations, 161,
433; nobility, 317-18, 321; officials,
I7I, 183, 221-2; printing, 202;
professors, 236, 240, 244, 247, 249,
252, 602-3; reforms, 120, 630;
seminary-university, 66; teaching, 216,
230, 360-1, §72, 624; theology, 224,
476, 504, 506; women, 297; see also
Campe, J. H.; Hentzer, Paul; Hutten,
Ulrich von; Lauterbach, Johann;
Meiners, Christoph; Melanchthon,

Philip; Sturm, Johannes; Vadianus;
Wieland, Christoph Martin

Gerona (Spain, Gerona), UNIVERSITY, 86,
89, 92

Giessen (Germany, Hesse), UNIVERSITY,
72, 74, 84, 87, 92, 120; cameralism,
374; graduates, 386; printing, 203;
professors, 227, 547; statutes, 167; see
also Liebig, Justus

Glasgow (United Kingdom, Strathclyde),
625; Royal College of Physicians, 402;
UNIVERSITY, 57, 74, 83, 92, 123, 140,
159; arts, 162; attendance, 301;
graduates, 386, 403, 409; mobility,
435, 438; professors, 569, 587; see also
Cullen, William; Smith, Adam

gloss, glossators, 249, 607

Gorz (Gorizia) (Italy, Gorizia), 625

G6ttingen (Germany, Lower Saxony),
learned society, 638; UNIVERSITY, 38,
74, 86, 89, 92, 142, 549; attendance,
304, 321; Enlightenment, 123, 629,
633; history, 578; library, 199;
medicine, 609; mobility, 438, 440;
philology, 575; professors, 28, 178,
189, 216, 225, 227, 229-31, 252, 402,
515, 559, 568, 603; see also Haller,
Albrecht von; Justi, J. H. G. von;
Meiners, Christoph; Michaelis, Johann
David; Piitter, Johann Stephan

Gouda (Netherlands, Zuid-Holland),
careers, 412

graduates, 7, 37, 56, 129, 137, 158, 229,
233, 259, 261, 274, 277-9, 295, 302,
305, 313, 317, 338, 357-414, 418,
429, 436, 4375 4395 441, 444, 455,
466, 542, 567, 605, 612, 635; number
of, 302, 380, 386, 394, 412, 567

graduation, 118, 120-1, 127, 149, 165,
185, 291, 293, 297, 328, 331-3, 355-
415, 423, 428, 432, 434-53 Costs, 363—-
70; see also examination; professions

grammar, 54-5, 157-8, 231, 262, 267—
71, 274 -S, 290, 292, 314, 317, 327;
330, 335, 339-41, 373, 3945 401, 457-
8, 460, 462-3, 466, 477, 483, 493,
497, 564, 567, 571-2; chair, 36; see
also liberal arts

Granada (Spain, Granada), 15;
UNIVERSITY, 84, 103; attendance, 307

Granada, New Kingdom of, see New
Granada

grants, 276, 547

Graz (Austria, Steiermark), 67, 625;
UNIVERSITY, 86, 92, I19, 1423
mobility, 121, 421, 425

6743

Subject index

Great Britain (British Isles), 257, 261,
269, 276, 429, 437, 585, 623, 628;
learned societies, 71, 483, 500;
Reformation, 501; UNIVERSITIES, XxXiil,
134-40, 278; mobility, 422, 426;
physics, 558, 589; scientists, 542

Great Schism, 162, 474

Greek students and scholars, 23, 430,
440, 445, 527, 573; language, 157,
211, 274, 275, 340, 470, 471, 496,
570, 5733 Manuscripts, 460, 461;
professor of, 10, 36-7, 462; study of,
417, 445, 461, 573

Greek world, 9-11, 23, 35-7, 43, 44, 48,
1§7, 211, 274, 275, 340, 430, 440,
445, 452, 459, 460-2, 470, 471, 496,
5275 550, 569, 570, 572-4, 590, 595,
613; authors, 9, 452, 458, 550, 569,
574, 590, 595; philosophers, 23, 35,
36; physicians, 613

Greenwich (United Kingdom, borough of
Greater London), observatory, 473

Greifswald (Germany,
Mecklenburg-Vorpommern),
UNIVERSITY, 83, 92, 147-8, 2873
attendance, 304; mobility, 422, 440;
statutes, 166; women, 297; see also
Stephani, Mattia

Grenoble (France, Isére), UNIVERSITY, 82,
83, 92

Groningen (Netherlands, Groningen),
UNIVERSITY, 87, 92, 144; jurisdiction,
177; library, 196; students, 164

Grub Street Writers, 358

Griinau (Austria, Oberdésterreich), 227

Guatemala (Guatemala), UNIVERSITY (San
Carlos), 263-5, 270-1

gymnasium illustrium, see illustrious
school

Haarlem (Netherlands, Noord-Holland),
Careers, 411

Habsburg, 141, 150, 437, 5693 countries,
76, 304, 314, 321, 361, 441;
universities, 142, 295, 440

Halle (Germany, Sachsen-Anhalt),
academies, 88, 188; UNIVERSITY, I7-
18, 38, 84, 88, 92; attendance, 304,
321; cameralism, 374, 603; colleges,
320; Enlightenment, 120, 514-15, 633,
638; finance, 188; law, 600, 602, 608;
library, 197-8, 201; management, 195;
medicine, 546, 559, 609; mobility, 438;
models, 142, 604; philology, 575, 598;
professors, 175, 227, 229-30, 246,
248, 252; statutes, 197; teaching, 568;
women, 297; see also Erzleben,

Dorothea; Gundlin, Nicolas;
Heineccius, Johann Gottlieb; Hoffman,
Friedrich; Schmauss, Johann Jacob;
Stahl, Georg Ernst; Thomasius,
Christian; Wolff, Christian

Hadlsingland (Sweden), region, 187

Hamburg (Germany, Hamburg), 79, 431,
524, 598; illustrious school, 68;
specialized school, 58; library, 27; see
also Gronovius, Johannes Fredericus;
Reimarus, Hermann Samuel

Hamm (Germany, North
Rhine-Westphalia), illustrious school,
68

Hanau (Germany, Hesse), illustrious
school, 68

handbooks, see textbooks

Hanover (Germany, Lower Saxony),
electorate of, 199; library, 198, 585;
see also Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm

Hanover (USA, New Hampshire),
Dartmouth College, 257, 267, 274

Harderwijk (Netherlands, Gelderland),
UNIVERSITY, 88, 92; degrees, 68;
jurisdiction, 177; mobility, 433-6;
professors, 243

Harrison College (Barbados, West Indies),
270

Harvard College or UNIVERSITY, see
Cambridge (USA)

Havana (Cuba), UNIVERSITY, 265

Hebrew Bible, 525; language, 20, 35-7,
T§7, 211, 239, 274, 460-2, 496, 525;
564, 570, $73, 595, 598; professor of,
20, 36; see Jews

Heidelberg (Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemberg), 372; catechism,
120, 339; learned societies, 32;
UNIVERSITY, 39, 67, 83, 90, 92, 118,
120-2, 143, 177, 328, 476; attendance,
286, 314, 317, 321, 378-9; botany,
192; colleges, 339; finance, 185; Greek,
461; law, 603; mobility, 421, 422, 424,
435, 440, 443, 446; officials, 176, 179;
printing, 202; professors, 218, 222-3,
231, 233-4, 240, 602; statutes, 218,
231; teaching, 50; see also Gruterus,
Janus; Heinrich, Otto; Pufendorf,
Samuel

Hellenism, 32, 526

Helmstedt (Germany, Lower Saxony), 51;
UNIVERSITY, 86, 92, 122, 1593
attendance, 304; professors, 602;
statutes, 29; see also Conring, Hermann

Herborn (Germany, Hesse), illustrious
school, 52, 68-9; law, 117; medicine,
117; mobility, 121, 423, 435, 446;

674

Subject index

philosophy, 582, 584; privileges, 50;
professors, 500, 513; statutes, 582; see
also Alsted, Johann Heinrich; Althusius,
Johannes

Herlufsholm (Skovhoved) (Denmark,
Copenhagen), 322

Hesse (Germany), county, 50, 72, 167

Hispaniola, island of (Espafiola, la Isla
Espafiola) (Haiti and Dominican
Republic), 262; see also Santo Domingo

history, passim; chair, 36, 575; Historia,
19, 22, 457, 491, 519-20, 524, 5273
historians, xix, Xxx, XXi, 4, 9, IO, I2-
14, 31, 36-75 535 75, 297, 398-400,
4575 5325 5345 5395 540, 549, 551-2,
560, 563-4, 588; historical study, 30,
498, 499, 502, 507, 519; teaching,
575-8

Holland (Netherlands), 53, 544; careers,
411; education, 23; medical colleges,
404; States of, 169, 204; students, 430,
434, 440; UNIVERSITIES, 428, 479;
anatomy, 192; attendance, 379-80,
385; degrees, 363; see also Netherlands
(Low Countries) and Netherlands,
Northern; Descartes, René

Holy Roman Empire, see Germany

Home Counties (Essex, Hertfordshire,
Kent, Surrey, Berkshire,
Buckinghamshire, Sussex), 459

hortus botanicus, see botanical garden

Huesca (Spain, Huesca), UNIVERSITY, 82,
92

Huguenots, 126, 429, 446, 479, 512;
academies, 63, 66, 71, 476; see also
Die, Montauban, Montpellier, Nimes,
Orange, Orléans, Orthez, Saumur,
Sedan

humanism, xx, xxi, 3-41, 45, 54, 75,
II5-18, 125, 129, 141-6, 148, 290,
305, 329, 382, 387, 389, 416, 417,
457, 459-63, 470, 481, 491, 496, 501,
510, 550, 554, 569, 615, 623;
humanistic education, xx, 4, 29, 343
humanists, 7-11, 13-8, 30-7, I15, I16,
215, 418, 470, 566, 571-4, 578-80,
591, 594-8, 607

humanities (studia humanitatis), 17, 29,
39, 44, 54, 65, 69, 72, 157, 274, 290,

310, 359, 380, 463, 483, 490, 491;
chair, 20; see also liberal arts

Humboldtian University, 44, 57, 274,
574527

Hungary, 77, 314, 569; church, 569;
humanism, 29; mining school, 469;
UNIVERSITIES, 78; mechanical

philosophy, 584; mobility, 422, 425,
433, 438, 471

Hussite troubles, 444 :

Hven, Island of (Hveen, Ven) (Denmark),
research station 472, 544; see also
Brahe, Tycho

Iberian peninsula (Spain and Portugal),
19, 443; UNIVERSITIES,123, 129-34;
attendance, 306, 310-11;
Enlightenment, 625, 631; law, 604;
mobility, 418, 421, 424, 425; printing,
202; see also Portugal, Spain

Iceland, 439

illustrious schools, 52, 57, 63, 66, 68,
71-35 78-9, 80, 83, 86, 88, I§7, 291,
423, 432

immunities, see privileges

inceptio, see examination

Index librorum, 12, 218

India, 15, 133, 465

Indians, 268

Indies, 264; Council of the Indies, 261,
390; Dutch Indies, 392; Indians, 22-3,
257, 266-8, 276; Spanish Indies, 264,
270, 281; West Indies, 268, 276

industrial revolution, 13, 57

Ingolstadt (Germany, Bavaria), learned
societies, 32; UNIVERSITY, 83, 92;
attendance, 304, 314, 317, 378;
Enlightenment, 123, 142; Jesuits, 117,
421, 473, 604; mobility, 421, 425, 434;
officials, 179, 224; professors, 4, 20,
165, 219, 222, 229, 238, 240, 244,
246, 249, 251, 261, 461, 473, 595,
604; Statutes, 165; teaching, 571; see
also Apianus, Peter; Eck, Johann;
Ickstatt, Johann Adam; Reuchlin,
Johannes; Scheiner, Christoph; Viglius
ab Aytta; Werner, Johannes

initiation rite, 349

Inns of Court, 53, 79-80, 135, 336, 384,
389, 411, 456, 604

Innsbruck (Austria, Tirol), learned
societies, 625; UNIVERSITY, 88, 92,
142; attendance, 305; colleges, 321;
degrees, 68

Inquisition, 13, 133, 149, 258, 294, 318,
350, 390, 442

insignia, 154, 205-8, 246, 361, 387; arms
and banners, 205-6; books, 173, 205,
249, 361; chain, 206; ring, 205; sack
(Bilgen), 205; sceptre, 205; seal, 173,
205, 426, 538; symbols, 46, 205, 207,
355; see also dress

Irache (Spain, Navarre), UNIVERSITY,

84-5, 92, 434

675

Subject index

Ireland (Hibernia), Inns of Court, 384;
seminary, 480; UNIVERSITIES, 65, 78,
242, 480; Catholics, 49; colleges, 49,
429, 480; Dissenters, 438; graduates,
437; mobility, 429, 437, 480; see also
Plunkett, John

Islam, 72, 338; see also Arabic world,
Moors

Italy, xxii, 63, 78, 182, 393, 486, 5433
academies, 26, 482; colleges 318, 330,
432; courts, 481, 543; governments,
308; humanism, 5, 8, 11, 13, 15, 36,
116, 387, 392, 470, 546, 571, 5743
Jesuits 330; jurisprudence, 327, 515;
medical colleges, 377, 404, 424;
mendicants, 223; municipal councils,
178; politics, 148, 543, 624; printing,

Aristotelian teaching, 551, 579-81;
buildings and libraries, 191, 195-6;
educational model (ratio studiorum),
54, 65-6, 72, 83, 84, 89, 120, 122,
126, 131, 146, 568; scholars and
professors, 494, 499, 505-6, 508, 513,
518, 577, 583, 591, 596, 608; theatre,
351

Jesuit institutions: colleges or gymnasia,

52, 63, 69, 72, 85-7, 142, I9I, 226,
303-4, 315, 318-20, 330, 334-5, 338-
42, 3595 429, 463, 4735 5435 5505
faculties, 69, 92, 378; faculty of arts,
81, 126, 133, 142, 293, 359, 378, 631;
faculty of law, 141; faculty of theology,
81, 126, 141-2, 157, 506, 596; school
for nobles, 318-22; schools, 52, 63, 69,

202; surgery, 59, 4533; UNIVERSITIES,
49, 77, 148, 293, 329, 330, 417, 424-
5s 4275 430, 435-6, 438, 440-1, 445,
4795 550, 564, 580, 624-5; archives,
201; astronomy, 471; attendance, 240,
300, 307-9, 319, 385, 418, 435;
buildings, 190, 192; colleges, 160, 334,
339, 341, 463; degrees, 293, 368, 374,
419; engineer, 467; Enlightenment, 123,
627, 631, 638; festivities, 351; finance,
189; graduates, 310, 320-2, 368, 385,
413, 418-19; Greek and Hebrew, 570;
history, 534, 547; humanities, 11;
insignia, 205; Jews, 295, 4303
languages, 25, 341, 416, 459; law, 148,
368, 413, 607; mathematics 591;
medicine, 430, 546, 559, 564, 609-10;
mobility, 122, 149, 342, 346-7, 417,
418, 422, 426-7, 470; nations, 327;
New Science, 534, 557; officials, 171,
182-3; philosophy, 492, 579-80;
professors, 211, 228-9, 236, 238, 247,
249, 5595 586, 5913
seminary-university, 66; teaching, 214,
557, 610; theology, 505-6; tolerance,
122, 426-7; see also Martire
d’Angheria, Pietro; Muratori, Lodovico
Antonio; Sulpizio of Veruli, Giovanni
Antonio

ius commune, see law, common

Jansenism, 122, 134, 146, 630

Jena (Germany, Thuringia), 467;
UNIVERSITY, 85, 92, 120, 289;
attendance, 303-4, 321; buildings, 159;
degrees, 68; jurisdiction, 176; mobility,
122, 422; professors, 175, 245, 596;
statutes, 167; see also Gerhard, Johann

Jesuit education: American activities, 260,
264-6, 269, 271, 274, 279, 282;

180, 223, 424; seminars, 260, 330;
universities, 48, 52-3, 69-70, 82-90,
92, II7, 119, 133, 145, 149, 156, 223,
421, 424-5, 429, 473, 506, 600, 637

Jesuits, Society of Jesus, 76, 121-2, 137,
144, 306, 316, 292, 338-42;
dissolution of the Order, 69, 134, 146,
180-1, 196, 266, 282, 586, 604, 626—
7, 632-3, 636-7

Jews, 32, 291, 294-6, 338, 430, 436,
445, 502, 598; students, 67, 149, 273,

295» 430
Joachimsthal (Germany, Brandenburg),

60, 467; see also Agricola, Georgius

journalism, 358, 394, 617, 628; learned
journals, 16-17, 27, 215, 394, 485-6;
travel journals, 443

jurisdiction, 114, 121-2, 127, 133-5,
I4I-2, 152, 163, 164, 172, 176-9,
182, 253, 287, 294, 331, 5125
condemnation, 25, 532; punishment,
133, 178, 185; standards of moral
conduct, 52, 61, 156, 219, 244, 319,
339, 406, 409, 419, 433, 5525
university courts of justice, 164, 170,
173, 176-8, 205, 218

jus canonicum, see law, canon

Justinian collections, see law, civil or
Roman

Kaiserslautern (Germany, Rhineland-
Palatinate), specialized school, 58

Kaliningrad (Konigsberg) (Russia,
Kaliningrad oblast), UNIVERSITY, 74,
92; attendance, 303-4; library, 198;
mobility, 422, 428, 440; privileges, 85;
professors, 230, 238, 588; see also
Kant, Immanuel; Regiomontanus,
Johannes

Kantianism, 588-9

676

Subject index

Kassa (KoSice) (Slovakia,
Vychodoslovenskf), UNIVERSITY, 88,
92

Kassel (Germany, Hesse), UNIVERSITY,
88, 92, 159; colleges, 72, 317

Kazan (Russia, Autonome Tartar
Republic), 49

Keszthely (Hungary, Vezprém), specialized
school, 58

Kiel (Germany, Schleswig-Holstein),
UNIVERSITY, 88, 92

Kiev (Ukraine), colleges, 330; Orthodox
theological academy, 48, 56; students,

347

King’s College, see New York

Klagenfurt (Austria, Carinthia), societies,
625

knowledge, passim; classification, 47, 81,
482, 520, §21, 615

KOonigsberg, see Kaliningrad

KoSice, see Kassa

Kulm (Chelmno) (Poland, Torun), school,
52; UNIVERSITY, 82, 90

La Fléche (France, Sarthe), 319, 550;
UNIVERSITY, 80

La Laguna (Spain, Santa Cruz de
Tenerife), UNIVERSITY, 88, 92

La Plata (Sucre, also Chuquisaca, Los
Charcos) (Bolivia), Viceroyalty of, 265;
UNIVERSITY, 265, 266

laicization, 80, 116, 179, 207, 223, 234,
237, 245, 261, 271, 314, 403, 415,
427, 452, 626-7, 634

Landshut (Germany, Bavaria),
UNIVERSITY, 60, 83, 90

language teaching, 58, 81, 175, 275, 569,
570-5, 598

languages, 23, 29, 335 49, 175, 225, 257,
263, 269, 272, 275, 456, 460, 481-2,
526, 538, 568, 570-5, 592, 624, 628,
633; Antique languages, 20, 28, 567;
Arabic, 570, 589; Catalan, 459; Czech,
12; Dutch, 12, 32-3, 571; English, 275;
French, 32, 175, 416, 456, 476, 568;
Gallic, 457; German, 32, 422, 569;
Greek, 157, 211, 274-5, 340, 461,
470-1, 496, 570, 573; Hebrew, 20, 35-
7, 157, 211, 239, 274, 460-2, 496,
525, 564, 570, 573, 595, 5985 Latin, 6,
II, 12, 15, 19, 28, 36, 37, 54, 133,
166, 168, 231, 275, 289, 315, 328,
335 3435 345, 392, 428, 434, 560,
571; Oriental, 58, 82, 423, 5645
Russian, 225; Spanish, 33, 272, 275;
vernacular languages, 10, 17, 275, 328,
343, 345, 456, 458-9, 568-74, 623

Lapland, 20, 485

Latin, Antiquity, 11, 43; culture, 331,
4455 grammar, 269, 274, 275, 477;
571; languages, 6, 11, 12, 15, 19, 28,
36, 37, 54, 133, 166, 168, 231, 289,
315, 328, 335, 343, 345, 392, 428,
434, 560; orators, 572; schools, 65,
157, 243, 247, 321, 3743 texts, 268,
573; translation, 465

Laudian Anglicanism, 537; reform, 120;
Statutes, 136, 174, 201, 204, 360

Lausanne (Switzerland, Vaud), 144, 470;
theological academy, 52, 117, 190,
476; see also Gessner, Conrad

law, passim

law, canon, 22, 55, 72, 129, 131, 133,
135, 155, 223, 241, 260, 264, 270,
302, 307, 310, 318, 319, 358, 368,
381, 383, 390, 434, 455, 456, 460,
471, 474, 475, 515, 599, 600

law, civil or Roman, 4, 10, 25, 29, 30,
35> 47> 54, 555 58, 63, 72, 81, 82, 117,
125, 127, 129, 135, 1375 155, 1773
195, 198, 217, 220, 222, 224, 241,
246, 247, 249, 251, 252, 258, 260,
261, 269, 272, 286, 287, 299-301,
307, 310, 315, 319-21, 326, 3275 332,
338, 355, 358, 362, 363, 365, 366,
372, 373, 380, 382, 383, 384, 386,
388, 390, 391, 394, 395, 406, 408-10,
414, 419, 423, 426, 434, 453, 4555
456, 460, 462, 466, 483, 498, Sol,
507, 510-13, $15, 599, 600-8;
reception of Roman law, 114, 219,
285, 429, 433, 557; Roman law
studies, 567, 601

law, common, 135, 384, 456, 601, 604,
605; Customary, 384, 569, 600;
natural, 18, 22, 128, 132, 512, 520;
obligations, 4, 5, 7, 8, 204, 217, 218,
248, 277, 344, 473, 512, 515; public
(jus publicum), 515, 521

law, jurisprudence, xxiii, 34, 35, 82, 128,
134, 139, 148, 291, 294, 296, 297,
310, 315, 316, 327, 328, 336, 489,
491-3, 498, 500, 501, 509-511, 514-
16, 519-21, 523, 527, 528, 529, 605,
607, 608, 616, 626, 633

law, legal doctrine or principles, 35, 510,
520, 606, 607; humanism, 615;
institutions, 19, 35; norms (loci
communes), 39, 498, 502, 510, 525,
596; systems, 128, 135, 602, 605, 608

law schools, 55, 148, 251, 279, 399, 424,
455; law students, 35, 132, 135, 148,
162, 379, 383, 384, 425, 427, 446; law
studies or training, 129, 131, 135, 139,

677

Subject index

law schools (cont.)
220, 279, 367, 390, 417, SII, 520,
603, 606

learned societies, see academies

lecture (lectio), 5, 10, 35, 78, 145, 192,
2II, 213, 216, 217, 250, 271, 340,
343-5, 351, 462, 476, 534, 546, 565,
566, 568, 569, 591, 609; cathedra,
609; extraordinary, 31, 316, 344, 535;
539, 609; practica, 609; quality, 39,
50-2, 61, 63, 68, 69, 74, 1375 182,
199, 204, 216, 222, 2255 3335 335-75
346, 369, 387, 404, 429, 434, 438,
440, 442, 517, 523, 536, 570

Leeuwarden (Netherlands, Friesland),
careers, 408

legal history, 113

Leiden (Netherlands, Zuid-Holland),
careers, 407-8, 411, 413, 540;
UNIVERSITY, 8, 52, 57; 74, 86, 92,
144, 477; anatomy, 192; arts, 359;
astronomy, 473; botany, 21, 192, 612;
degrees, 364, 405; Enlightenment, 140;
history, 25, 547, 576; Jews, 430;
jurisdiction, 177; languages, 571; law,
431, 600-3; library, 199, 201, 618;
medicine, 193, 431, 445, 546, 559,
609, 614-15; mobility, 121-3, 138,
232, 328, 402, 421, 423, 4309, 43 5-6;
models, 114, 604; New Science, 535,
557; Officials, 169, 176; philology, 498,
502, 574; philosophy, 584; printing,
203-4; privileges, 204; professors, 33,
226, 229, 231-2, 248, 402; statutes,
64, 167; surgery, 405; teaching, 8, 446,
559, 611; tolerance, 122-3; see also
Albinus, Bernard Siegfried; Boerhaave,
Herman; Bronchorst, Everard; Clusius,
Carolus; Heineccius, Johann Gottlieb;
Lipsius, Justus; Pitcairn, Archibald;
Scaliger, Joseph Justus; Vinnius,
Arnoldus; Voet, John; Zoesius,
Thomas; ’s Gravesande, W. J. van

Leipzig (Germany, Saxony), 500, 595;
learned societies, 16, 486; UNIVERSITY
83, 92, I14, 571; attendance, 304,
314-15, 321; botany, 192;
Enlightenment, 123; law, 607; library,
196; mobility, 120-1, 416, 422-3;
nations, 162-4; printing, 202; statutes,
167; see also Gottsched, Johann
Christoph; Mencke, Otto

Lemberg (Lvov, Lwow) (Ukraine, Lvov),
UNIVERSITY, 88, 90, 92, 142, 425

Leon, UNIVERSITY of (Nicaragua, Leon),
263

Lérida (Lleida)(Spain, Lérida),
UNIVERSITY, 82, 89, 92, 162

Lescar (France, Pyrénées Atlantiques),
UNIVERSITY, 86, 90

Lesser Antilles, see Caribbean islands

liberal arts (artes liberales), 10, 29, 38,
48, 59, 65, I15, 120-1, 133, 157-8,
212, 240, 274, 279, 293, 321, 398,
417, 461-2, 469, 477, 495-8, 522,
554; quadrivium (arithmetic,
astronomy, geometry, music), 34, 463-
5, 469, 498, 522, 549, 6333 trivium
(grammar, rhetoric, dialectic or logic),
34, 289, 309, 457, 463, 497, 5493 see
under subjects and degree, faculty

liberties and immunities, see privileges

library, 9, 275 38, T55; 184-7, 190, I92-
204, 275, 333, 481-2, 534, 547, 563,
617; legal deposit, 165, 198; librarian,
168-9, 175, 196, 198-201, 217, 236,
278, 332, 495, 502, 506

licentia, see degree

licentiatus, see degrees

Liége (Belgium, Liége), principality of
Liége, 435; students, 163, 435

Lima (Peru), 261-5, 270

Lincolnshire (United Kingdom), 541;
school, 158

Lingen (Lingen an der Ems) (Germany,
Lower Saxony), illustrious school,
degrees, 68

Linz (Austria, Oberosterreich),
UNIVERSITY, 88, 92; degrees, 68;
teaching, 67

Lisbon (Portugal), 79; academy, 625;
UNIVERSITY, 82, 92, 132-3; colleges,
480

Litchfield (USA, Connecticut), 279

Lithuania, 48

Livonia (historical region in the Baltic),
179

Lleida, see Lérida

logic, 29, 211, 264, 274, 345, 483, 493-
5, 497-9, SOI, 502, 518, 531, 551,
553, 556-8, 569, 578, 581, 582, 587,
590, 594; Aristotelian logic, 594;
Lockian inductive logic, 558; see also
artes liberales

London (United Kingdom), 79, 268, 278,
429, 454, 461, 484-5, 499, 540;
Greenwich observatory, 473; Gresham
College, 466, 483, 535; Inns of Court,
525 79-80, 135; 336, 384, 389, 4II,
456, 604; medicine, 559; printing, 204;
Royal College of Physicians, 34, 385,
404, 454; Royal Exchange, 466; Royal
Institution, 544; Royal Society, 280,

678

Subject index

483-4, 500, 542, 547-8, 5535 5555
623, 625; Stationers’ Company, 198;
see also Bruno, Giordano; Caxton,
William; Gresham, Thomas; Newton,
Isaac

Lorraine (France), 19; students, 126, 427;
nobility, 314

Los Charcos, see La Plata

Lotharingian territory (France), 126; see
also Lorraine

Louvain (Belgium, Brabant), 236, 477;
careers, 412, 414; UNIVERSITY, 83, 92,
293, 421, 435; admission, 286, 288;
archives, 20I;:arts, 163, 3593
attendance, 299, 305, 379; buildings,
190; colleges, 158, 160-1, 359, 429,
480; finance, 186; graduates, 379;
Jansenism, 146; jurisdiction, 177;
library, 197, 199, 201; mobility, 328,
420, 480; models, 47, 162-3, 290;
nations, 162-3; officials, 76, 176, 182;
philosophy, 584; printing, 202-3;
privileges, 145-6, 241; professors, 8,
213, 219, 222, 230, 233, 2.36, 241,
245, 249; 252; statutes, 64, 66, 145,
163, 167; teaching, 212; trilingual
college, 36, 57, 145, 157, 203, 418,
461, 570; see also Bellarmino, Roberto;
Lipsius, Justus; Mercator, Gerard

lower faculty, see faculty of arts

Lucca (Italy, Lucca), UNIVERSITY, 82, 92

Lund (Sweden, Malmoéhus), Academia
Carolina, 230; UNIVERSITY, 88, 92,
123, 147-8; attendance, 305; chemistry,
611; professors, 230, 236; statutes, 166

Lunéville (France, Meurthe-et-Moselle),
321

Lutheran universities, 50, 52, 71, 72, 66,
167, I91, 226, 227, 236, 378, 422,
424, 462, 478; teaching, 84, 120, 518;
theology, 82, 501, 596

Lutheranism, 121, 144, 147, 227, 371,
374 421, 440, 443, 446, 459, 472,
4735 4755 478, 492, SOI, 504, 505,
508, 513, 518, 525, 585, 595, 596,
598, 599, 604; Lutheran countries,
119, 179, 368, 372, 381, 410, 476,

479, 594
Lvov, Lwow, see Lemberg

Lyons (France, Rhéne), 79, 540;
specialized school, 58

Maastricht (Netherlands, Limburg),
teaching, 67
Macerata (Italy, Macerata), UNIVERSITY,

85, 92
Machiavellism, 513

Madrid (Spain), 79, 132, 228, 242, 460;
academy, 625

Magdeburg (Germany, Sachsen—Anhalt),
553

magic, 481, 496, 540, 560, 612

magister, see degrees

Mainz (Germany, Rhineland-Palatinate),
UNIVERSITY, 84, 92, 142, 224;
cameralism, 374, 544; mobility, 425;
see also Becher, Johann Joachim

Majorca, Palma (Spain, Baleares),
UNIVERSITY, 84, 93

Malthusianism, 357, 363, 396

Manchester (United Kingdom,
Lancashire), 53, learned societies, 625

Mannheim (Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemberg), specialized
school, 58

Mantua (Italy, Mantova), 460;
UNIVERSITY, 87, 92

Marburg (Germany, Hesse), UNIVERSITY,
36, 71-3, 87-8, 92, 462; attendance,
303; history, 575; jurisdiction, 176;
library, 196; officials, 173, 179;
privileges, 84; professors, 18, 227, 231,
585, 600; statutes, 167, 173; see also
Bronchorst, Everard; Mentzer,
Balthasar; Wolff, Christian

Marranos, 430

Marseilles (France, Bouches-du-RhG6ne),
79

Marxists, 539-40

Massachusetts (USA), 258, 267, 269, 274;
Williams College, 274

master, see degrees

mathematics, 12, 18, 20, 34, 36, 38, 44,
57, 134, 157, 235, 278, 296, 319, 359,
432, 462-9, 472, 479, 484, 497, 521,
535 545, 549-52, 557-8, 560, 564,
585-93; algebra, 522, 592;
Archimedean inheritance, 591;
arithmetic, 274, 275, 458, 498, 590;
chair, 36, 235, 545, 591; Leibnizian
infinitesimals, 538; mathematicians, 45,
465, 471, 481-3, 554, 589, 5915
teaching, 589-93

matriculation, 118, 149, 163, 185, 187,
2545275;.377

Maurins, 122

Maynooth (Ireland, Kildare), seminary,
480

mechanical arts (artes mechanicae),
mechanics, 123, 398, 467-9, 473, 483,

489, 509, 522-3, 537-8, 549, 554;
556, 592, 614; account of nature, 527-

8; chemistry, 532; instruments, 553;
philosophy, 538, 549, 553-45 558, 560,

679

Subject index

mechanical arts (cont.)
583-7, 613; practical arts, 560; see also
technology, scientific experimentation

medical colleges: of pharmacy, 81; of
physicians, 34, 377, 385, 402, 404,
424, 454; of surgery, 58, 81, 402, 438

medical concepts, 613; reforms, 402-5,
446

medical schools, 424, 452; hospitals, 189,
193, 201, 403, 612, 618; teaching, 469,
557, 608-18

medical students, 121, 193, 194, 379,
403, 426, 438, 547, 610, 618; doctors,
9, 12, 14, 17, 20, 21, 30, 34, 37, 46,
48, 53, 55 2435 247, 252-4, 270, 279,
297, 358, 364, 374-7, 379, 385, 386,
394-406, 408, 411, 427, 435, 436,
453, 454, 467, 470, 481, 502, 545-6,
558, 589, 609-13

medicine, Galenian, 501, 557, 592;
Hermetic medicine, 496; hylomorphism,
521-3, 522; iatrochemistry, 552;
practical 402, 566, 569, 609, 611-12;
Renaissance medicine, 559

Meissen (Germany, Saxony), county, 114

mendicants, 156, 223, 264

mercantilism, 482, 516

Mérida (Mexico, Yucatan), University of
Yucatan, 265-6

Messina (Italy, Messina), UNIVERSITY, 85,
92; degrees, 68; professors, 544; see
also Borelli, Giovanni Alfonso

Mexico, 16, 259, 264

Mexico City (Mexico), 263

Méziéres, see Charleville-Méziéres

Middle Ages, passim; medieval science,
464, 536

Midlands, see West Midlands

Milan (Italy, Milano), archdiocese, 478;
college of physicians, 377; Jesuit school,
52; Senate, 233, 222, 241; UNIVERSITY,
79, 85, 92, 149; degrees, 68; mobility,
439; natural history, 547; officials, 180;
professors, 34; see also Alciatus,
Andreas

military school (academy), 46, 58-9, 123,
469; military technology, 25, 175, 391,
468

mineralogy, teaching, 275

mining, 467-9; school in, 58, 81, 551,
469, 635

mobility, 3, 137, 162, 230, 256, 258,
328, 355, 3575 387, 393, 417-28, 444,
446, 624; Ars apodemica, 417; foreign
students, 140, 145, 148-9, 162-3, 229,
293, 300, 305, 308, 363, 364, 376,
417-18, 422-8, 433, 435-9, 443-53

Grand Tour (Bildungsreise), 40, 175,
417, 427-8, 431-7, 441, 624; iter
gallicum, 427, 440; iter italicum, 417,
427, 440; migration movements, 116,
125, 161, 286, 390, 428, 444, 459,
502, §22, 617, 638; travel guides, 51,
212, 563, 601; Ultramontane students,
368, 418, 426, 439

Modena (Italy, Modena), UNIVERSITY, 89,
92; attendance, 308, 319; officials, 172

Modern Devotion (Devotio moderna,
Brethren of the Common Life), 290,
463, 572

Molsheim (France, Bas-Rhin),
UNIVERSITY, 87, 88, 92, I19, 425

monasticism, 29, 87, 65, 159, 302, 314,
330, 333, 336, 341, 344, 477

Mondovi (Italy, Cunio), UNIVERSITY, 86,
92

Montauban (France, Tarn-et-Garonne),
UNIVERSITY, 87, 92, 127, 476

Montbéliard (France, Doubs),
UNIVERSITY, 88, 92

Monterrey (Spain, Orense), Jesuit college,
292

Montpellier (France, Hérault), Calvinist
academy of theology, 81; physicians,
404, 476; UNIVERSITY, 81, 93, 633;
anatomy, 470; attendance, 386; botany,
193; medicine, 125, 128, 424, 430-1,
433, 454, 470, 546, 609, 613, 6335
mobility, 419, 427, 430-3; models,
155, 170; professors, 220, 236, 242,
614-15; see also Barthez, Paul Joseph;
Boissier de Sauvages, Francois;
Chastelain, Jean; Dortoman, Pierre

Moors, Moriscos, 15, 71, 291, 430

Moravia, 314; students, 422, 425, 440-1

mos gallicus, 445, 607; mos italicus, 424,
445, 607

Moscow (Russia), 445; academies and
specialized school, 48, 56, 58;
UNIVERSITY, 48, 61, 89, 93, 123, 2253
Enlightenment, 631; mobility, 440;
professors, 232, 247, 440, 631;
teaching, 59; theology, 55

Moulins (France, L’Allier), Edict of, 372

Munich (Germany, Bavaria), 38, 79;
Jesuit college, 292; Kameral-Institut,
635; UNIVERSITY, 60, 83

Miinster (Germany, North
Rhine-Westphalia), prince-bishop, 435;
seminary, 478; UNIVERSITY, 87, 93

Murcia (Spain, Murcia), UNIVERSITY, 89,
93

museums, 38, 81, 192-3, 202, 547, 632

680

Subject index

music, 9, 169, 175, 313, 323, 341, 352,
466, 506, 522
mysticism, 495, 497, 508, 560

Nagyszombat (Trnava, Turnau) (Slovakia,
Zapadoslovenskf), UNIVERSITY, 83-4,
88, 90, 94, 425

Nancy (France, Meurthe-et-Moselle),
seminary, 478; UNIVERSITY, 71, 86, 89,

Nantes (France, Loire-Atlantique), Edict
of, 71, 127, 427, 429, 437, 483;
UNIVERSITY, 84, 89, 93

Naples (Italy, Napoli), 9, 76, 229, 636;
academies and specialized schools, 58,
150, 232, 481; UNIVERSITY, 82, 93,
130, 149, 420; attendance, 307;
professors, 16, 241, 247, §77, 586;
reforms, 156, 222, 229; see also
Martino, Niccol6 di; Vico, Giambattista

Napoleonic period, 128, 290

Nassau (Germany), county, 423

nationalism, 351, 444, 5033
nationalization, 154, 415, 623;
Nationalgelebrte, 230, 252

nations (nationes), 114, 128, 135, 154,
155, 158-63, 170, 173, 177, 195-7,
229, 231-333, 346, 352, 407, 426,
438, 444; festivities, 348-51;
four-nation model, 162; insignia, 204-
5; Officials, 162, 168, 171, 177, 294,
470

nations: English, 161, 426; German, 114,
149, 161, 163, 197, 293-4, 426, 4335
Polish, 426, 433, 439; Roman, 292,
295; Scottish, 161, 426

natural law, see law, common

natural philosophy, see philosophy

natural sciences, 4, 9, 40, 123, 278, 419,
469, 491, 564, 566, 578, 588, 593,
624, 625, 632, 634; chair, 137

Navarre (Spain), 86, 103, 509;
UNIVERSITIES, 434; see also Henry IV

navigation, research in, 551; instruments,
465

Netherlands (Low Countries), 73, 467,
638; Brethren of the Common Life,
463, 572; Dutch language, 12, 33, 571;
humanist schools, 65; States-General,
3623; UNIVERSITIES, 144-6; see also
Netherlands, Northern; Netherlands,
Southern

Netherlands, Northern (United Provinces,
United Republic), 163, 176, 362, 389,
392, 459, 467-8, 479, 574, 6173
academies, 71; education, 192, 463,
572; Enlightenment, 394, 396, 629-31,

635; gymnasia illustria, 63, 291, 4323
patricians, 433; physicians, 436;
Reformed Church, 274, 279, 476, 504;
secularization, 122; students, 178, 379,
384, 392, 407, 412-14, 435, 608;
UNIVERSITIES, 64, 67, 78, 144-6, 634;
anatomy, 192; arts, 582, 607;
attendance, 299, 305, 311, 385, 386,
441; colleges, 164, 334, 504; degrees,
305, 361, 364; Enlightenment, 123,
626, 631, 635; Jews, 295, 430; law,
445-6, 515, 601, 604, 607; medicine,
424, 611; mobility, 164, 305, 339, 361,
417, 420-3, 425, 428-38, 443; New
Science, 534, 557; Officials, 169, 183;
philology, 501, 623; professors, 144,
215, 226, 236, 247, 250-2, 5743
scholars, 41, 461, 525; theology, 504;
see also Agricola, Rudolph; Bartolin;
Bilderdijk, Willem; Boerhaave, Herman;
Gronovius, Johannes Fredericus;
Grotius, Hugo; Hemsterhuys, Tiberius

Netherlands, Southern, 145, 248, 362,
384, 425-6; Austrian Netherlands, 77-
8; humanism, 21; physicians, 436;
schools, 572; Spanish Netherlands, 119,
146, 424-5; students, 384, 412-14;
UNIVERSITIES, 119, 157, 4793
attendance, 441; colleges, 49, 334; law,
515, 607; mobility, 339, 418, 420,
424-5, 428-37, 440-1, 443; professors,
219, 231, 240, 586; theology, 231; see
also Clenardus, Nicolaus; Clusius,
Carolus; Despauterius, Johannes

Neuburg/Danube (Germany, Bavaria), 73

Neustadt an der Haardt (Germany,
Rhineland-Palatinate), UNIVERSITY, 82,
90

Neva (river), 231

New Brunswick (Canada), college, 270

New England (USA), 272-3, 275-6

New (Kingdom of) Granada (Colombia),
265

New Hampshire, see Hanover

New Jersey (USA), COLLEGES AND
UNIVERSITIES, 267, 274-7

New York (USA, New York), societies,
625; COLLEGES AND UNIVERSITIES,
267, 269, 272-3, 279-80

Newtonianism, 525, 538-9, 552, 557-85
585-9, 593, 614; chair, 472

Nicaragua, 263

Nice (France, Alpes-Maritimes),
UNIVERSITY, 68, 85, 93

Nicene Creed, 598

Nijmegen (Netherlands, Gelderland),
UNIVERSITY, 88, 93

681

Subject index

Nimes (France, Gard), UNIVERSITY, 66-7,
76, 85, 93, 476

Nivelles (Belgium, Brabant), 252-3

Normans, 456

North America, colonies, 257, 268, 270,
281, 438; wars, 258, 268, 577, 622,
630; COLLEGES AND UNIVERSITIES,
256-62, 267-9, 272-81, 438

Northampton (United Kingdom,
Northamptonshire), 53

Norway, students, 439

Nova Scotia (Canada), college, 270

numbers of graduates, 302, 377-86, 394,
412, 567; numbers of students, 297-
311, 632; oversupply of students, 393-

Nuremberg (Niirnberg) (Germany,
Bavaria), 473; humanism, 8, 10, 12,
19; learned societies, 32, 471; town
council, 179, 183; see also Pirckheimer,
Willibald; Regiomontanus, Johannes

Niirtingen (Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemburg), careers, 410

oath (juramentum), 67, 118, 120, 126,
135, 149, 226, 229, 285-8, 361, 426,
454, 457, 478; professio fidei, 120,
226, 425

observatory, see buildings

Olmiitz, see Olomouc

Olomouc (Olmiitz) (Czech Republic,
Severomoravsky), academy, 625;
UNIVERSITY, 69, 86, 93, 142

Ofiate (Spain, Guiptizcoa), UNIVERSITY,
85, 93, 434

Oporto (Porto) (Portugal, Douro Litoral),
specialized school, 58

optics, 464, 538, 556, 589, 592

Orange (France, Vaucluse), academy, 71;
UNIVERSITY, 67, 82, 93, 476; mobility,
4275 433

Oratory, 126, 317, 320, 463, 505, 543,
632; Oratorian teaching, 319, 585

Orihuela (Spain, Alicante), UNIVERSITY,
85, 93

Orlamiinde (Germany, Thuringia), 367

Orléans (France, Loiret), French language,
416; UNIVERSITY, 82, 93, 122, 124-6,
156, 564; assemblies, 168; attendance,
310, 378; buildings, 197, 201; colleges,
340; degrees, 68, 370; law, 125, 128,
156, 241, 245, 310, 370; mobility, 380,
416, 419, 421, 427, 431, 433, 435,
440, 443, 446; nations, 162, 162, 170-
I, 197, 201, 433; professors, 242, 245;
see also Avezan, Jean d’

Orthez (France, Pyrénées-Atlantiques),
UNIVERSITY, 86, 93, 476
Orthodox Church, 48, 55, 89, 92, 124,

Osnabriick (Germany, Lower Saxony),
UNIVERSITY, 87, 93, 425

Osuna (Spain, Sevilla), 67; UNIVERSITY,
85, 93, 434

Ottoman Empire, 445

Overyssel (Netherlands), careers, 407-8;
students, 311, 378-9

Oviedo (Spain, Oviedo), UNIVERSITY, 86,

Oxbridge (= Oxford and Cambridge), 53,
71, 140, 159; see further Cambridge,
Oxford

Oxford (United Kingdom, Oxfordshire),
483, 531-2, 540, 548; schools, 158;
UNIVERSITY, 38, 53, 81, 93, 120, 135-
7, 155, 278, 456, 464, 466, 479, 525,
542-4, 549, 571, 595; Arabic, 570;
archives, 201; assemblies, 168-9;
astronomy, 545-6, 557; attendance,
299, 302, 311-13, 316, 379; botany,
545, 612; buildings, 190, 193, 362,
547; chemistry, 546; colleges, 21, 158,
190, 200;: 27 112) 217,272; 290,334;
433, 483, 547, 570; Enlightenment,
627, 631, 638; examination, 361, 371;
festivities, 362; finance, 185, 188;
geometry, 545-6; Greek and Hebrew,
36; history, 575; jurisdiction, 177-8;
law, 604; library, 196-8, 200-1;
mathematics, 535, 545-6, 5903
mobility, 411, 428-9, 433; models, 52-
3, 65, 260-1, 564; Officials, 172, 174,
176, 180-2; philosophy, 536, 545;
printing, 175, 203-4; privileges, 202-3;
professors, 25, 36, 210-12, 217, 220,
222, 224, 226, 233, 235, 465, 545-63
Statutes, 163, 166, 180, 201, 212, 534;
teaching, 25, 50, 351, 360, 462, 545;
theology, 474; tutorial system, 568,
579, 618; see also Bentley, Richard;
Bodley, Thomas; Boyle, Robert; Bruno,
Giordano; Colet, John; Hakluyt,
Richard; Richard of Wallingford;
Savile, Henry; Smith, Adam

Paderborn (Germany, North
Rhine-Westphalia), UNIVERSITY, 87, 93,
119; mobility, 425

Padua (Italy, Padova), 582; UNIVERSITY,
37, 81, 93, 122, 149, 155, 160, 163,
460, 506; anatomy, 34, 545, 5515
assemblies, 168; astronomy, 24, 468,
522, 543-5; attendance, 307-8; botany,

682

Subject index

192, 470; degrees, 426; Jews, 295;
jurisdiction, 177; law, 600, 603;
mathematics, 467, 472, 591; medicine,
328, 454, 471, 568, 609-12, 614;
mobility, 328, 417, 421, 426, 430-1,
434-6, 440, 445-6, 470, 473, 543-43
models, 194, 583; nations, 163, 294,
426, 433, 439; New Science, 535;
officials, 172, 182; philosophy, 491,
496, 536, 580-4; printing, 202;
privileges, 294; professors, 211, 222,
229-31, 296, 468; statutes, 163, 167;
teaching, 543-4, 549, 5575 568;
theology, 506; women, 296; see also
Aldrovandi, Ulissi; Cardano, Girolamo;
Catena, Pietro; Colombo, Realdo;
Copernicus, Nicholas; Feltre, Vittorino
da; Galilei, Galileo; Harvey, William;
Marsilius of Padua; Monte,
Guid’Ubaldo del; Morgagni,
Giambattista; Patin, Carla Gabriella;
Patricius, Franciscus; Piscopia, Elena
Lucrezia Cornaro; Poleni, Giovanni;
Vesalius, Andreas

Palatinate (Germany), 437, 505

Palermo (Italy, Palermo), Jesuit school,
52; academy, 625; UNIVERSITY, 86,

ie:

Palma, Mallorca, see Majorca

palsgrave, see count palatine

Pamplona (Spain, Navarra), UNIVERSITY,
87, 93

Panama, UNIVERSITY, 265-6

papacy, 114, I16, 124, 140, 537; papal
bulls, 87, 120, 149, 263, 480; see also
Rome

Papal States (Italy), 7, 19, 149, 150, 425;
see also Rome

Paracelsian nature, 508; see name index
sub Paracelsus

Paraguay, 265

Paris (France), 582, 585; academies and
learned societies, 32, 317, 548, 555,
632; Jesuits, 334; literature, 290, 632;
medical colleges, 81, 385, 454;
parliament, 124, 170, 245, 246; schools
(colléges), 317, 334; seminary, 478;
specialized schools, 47, 58-9, 81, 402,
438, 469; UNIVERSITY, 4, 34, 375 575
81, 93, 124-8, 133, 155, 157, 170,
328, 476, 495; anatomy, 610;
attendance, 309-10, 379, 403; botany,
81, 193, 612, 618; buildings, 193, 402,
473; Collége de France, 26, 36, 57, 81,
125, 157, 461, 570, 605; colleges, 11,
133, 158, 161, 242, 334, 340, 463,
480, 573; degrees, 363, 378-9, 403,

612; Enlightenment, 633; examination,
373, 401; history, 576; languages, 461,
568, 571-3; law, 220, 228, 455, 600,
605; library, 196-7; mathematics, 590;
medicine, 81, 402, 454, 534, 563, 6093
mobility, 232, 370, 419, 421, 424, 427,
429, 431, 434, 4375 440, 443, 480,
592; models, 53-4, 64-5, 113, 141,
2575 290, 329, 564, 572-3, 582;
nations, 162; officials, 171, 179;
philosophy, 536, 580-4, 592; printing,
202, 458; professors, 26, 32, 36, 125,
213, 220-4, 228, 232-3, 236, 245-8,
401, 461, 576, 582, 590-3; Sorbonne,
124-6, 190, 202, 2.60, 334, 458;
statutes, 113, 141, 563; surgery, 402-3;
teaching, 50, 212, 617-18; theology,
125, 474, 506, 509, 595, 6173 see also
Agricola, Rudolph; Barbay, Pierre;
Besoigne, JérO6me; Calvin, John; Cop,
Wilhelm; Dorat, Jean; Estienne, Henri;
Fernel, Jean; Finé, Oronce; Gerson,
Jean; Grangier, Jean; Lombard, Petrus;
Malebranche, Nicolas de; Mersenne,
Marin; Plunkett, John; Ramus, Petrus;
Rollin, Charles

Parma (Italy, Parma), College of Nobles,
319; court academy, 150, 232;
UNIVERSITY, 83, 93; professors, 238,
577; see also Millot, Claude

Parnu (Pernau) (Estonia), UNIVERSITY, 87,
88, 90; mobility, 413

Pasadena (USA, Los Angeles),
UNIVERSITY, California Institute of
Technology (Cal Tech), 533

patronage and clientéle, 26, 141, 211,
228, 262, 270, 358, 412, 431, 471,
554, 583, 616

Pau (France, Pyrénées-Atlantiques),
UNIVERSITY, 89, 93

Pavia (Italy, Pavia), UNIVERSITY, 82, 93,
393; attendance, 308; colleges, 330;
Jews, 295; mobility, 417-18, 417, 427,
436, 439; Officials, 180; philosophy,
5793 printing, 202; professors, 222,
228-9, 233, 235, 238, 241, 543-45
statutes, 156; women, 297; see also
Amoretti, Maria Pellegrina; Aselli,
Gaspare; Cardano, Girolamo

Pennsylvania (USA), 274, 279; see also
Philadelphia

peregrinatio academica, see mobility

Pernau, see Parnu

Perpignan (France, Pyrénées-Orientales),
UNIVERSITY, 82, 93

Peru, 259, 265, 485

633

Subject index

Perugia (Italy, Perugia), UNIVERSITY, 82,
93; attendance, 308; colleges, 160;
Jews, 295; mobility, 417, 425, 4273
nations, 293; professors, 230

Pest, see Budapest

pharmacy, pharmacology, 82, 175, 188,
402, 404, 453, 483, 569, 609-11;
teaching, 123, 403, 609-10

Philadelphia (Pennsylvania, USA), 273-5,
277-80; academy, 625; COLLEGES AND
UNIVERSITIES, 267, 274, 278-9

philology, 30, 34, 38, 44, 57, 123, 129,
336, 359, 382, 397, 423, 457-9, 490,
491, 495, 498, 500-3, 507, S10, 519,
520, 524-7, 568, 575, 623, 634

Philosophical Society of Dublin, 625

Philosophical Transactions, 485

philosophy, passim; apologetics, 523;
metaphysical, 274, 483, 491-8, 501-2,
507-8, 519-23, 531, 539, 549-52,
556-8, 578, 579, 581, 587, 588-9,
598, 616, 624; natural philosophy, 35,
274, 462, 496, 509, 522, 523, 534,

537s 539s 545s 546, 552, 554, 556,
560, 615, 616; nominalism, 493, 494,

503; scholasticism, xxi, 4, 6, IO-11,
13, 28, 34, 125, 161, 2755 339, 343-5»
371, 401, 409, 491-8, 501-5, 508,
SII, 517, $235 531-75 549» 5515 5535
557s 560, 566, 580, 594-5, 625, 6373
sophists, 23, 40; teaching, 40, 578-89;
see also Aritotelianism, Platonism,
Stoicism

Phoenicians, 23 ;

physician, see medical students, doctors

physics, 36, 217, 462, 492, 495, 522,
523, 5275 $34-5Ss 5455 549, 558, 578,
582, 584-7, 590-35 614; chair, 36, 472

Piarists, 122, 321

Picardy (France), 443

Piedmont-Savoy (Italy), 76, 375; Collegio
delle Province, 320; careers, 385-6

Pietism, 382, 598, 630

Pisa (Italy, Pisa), 540; UNIVERSITY, 24,
82, 93, 123; attendance, 307-8;
botany, 192, 470, 610, 612; colleges,
160; mobility, 417-18, 420, 427, 436,
543; models, 194; officials, 182;
philosophy, 579; printing, 202;
professors, 230, 4723 see also
Cesalpino, Andrea; Galilei, Galileo

plague, 306, 407, 443, 475, 541, 542

Platonism, 9, 32, 495-6, 502, 519-26,
550, 579, 583; Hermeticism, 18, 490,
495-7, 500-2, 508, 517, 519, 560,
583; Neoplatonism, 490, 500, 502,
517, 518-19, 579

Po (river), 584

poetry, 5, 9-10, 18, 36, 220, 462, 493,
498, 519; chair, 36

Poitiers (France, Vienne), 597;
UNIVERSITY, 83, 93, 156; assemblies,
168; jurisdiction, 177; law, 162;
library, 201; officials, 171; see also
Poype de Vertrieu, J. Claude de la

Poland, 48, 52, 76, 299-300; nobility,
321; students, 424-5, 443;
UNIVERSITIES, 77, 146-7, 3303
attendance, 311; colleges, 334, 3393
mobility, 122-3, 163, 328, 342, 421-2,
425-6, 433, 440-1, 638; officials, 181;
professors, 247; seminary-university,
66; theology, 63; see also Cracow;
Sigismund of Poland; Zamosc

politics, 31, 148, 151, 161, 188, 218,
274, 318, 319, 483, 491, 492, SII,
515-17, $21, 528, 539, 541, 576, 578,
602-4, 622

Pont-4-Mousson (France,
Meurthe-et-Moselle), UNIVERSITY, 86,
89, 93, 126; mobility, 421, 427

Popayan (New Granada) (Colombia,
Cauca), UNIVERSITY, 265

Portugal, 17, 258, 466, 581; Jesuits, 626;
schools, 401; navigation, 20-3, 465,
469; UNIVERSITIES, 20, 66, 75-85
attendance, 299-300, 310-11, 322;
colleges, 322; Enlightenment, 627, 636-
8; insignia, 206; Jews, 430; mobility,
133, 417, 418, 421-2, 424, 430, 438,
440, 443; Officials, 182; philosophy, 21;
see also Iberian peninsula; Pombal,
Sebastido de Carvalho; Suarez,
Francisco de

Poznan (Posen) (Poland, Poznan), schools,
52; UNIVERSITY, 82, 90

Pozsony, see Bratislava

practitioners (male and female), 80, 243,
244, 452-4, 466, 470, 544, 555, 591,
612, 636

Prague (Czech Republic), 472, 548; castle,
191; technical college, 469;
UNIVERSITY, 33, 60, 82, 85, 93, 140,
142, 190; colleges, 82, 85, 191, 330,
425; degrees, 380; history, 547;
insignia, 206-7; Jews, 295; mobility,
440, 444; nations, 114, 162; theology,
506; see also Brahe, Tycho; Rudolf II

Presbyterian Church, 139, 272-4;
academies, 273

PreSov (Slovakia, Vychodoslovensk7#), 88,
90, 91

Pressburg, see Bratislava

Princeton University, see New Jersey

684

Subject index

printing, 5, 9, 12, I15, 165, 168, 201-4,
344-5, 458-9, 461, 471-2; printers,
175, 202-4, 458-9; see also books,
publishing

privileges, academic, 46, 68, 78, 85-9,
113, 117, 119, 126, 129, 133, 135,
140, 143-6, 149-51, 164-7, 175, 177,
180-2, 286-8, 291, 327, 331-3, 366,
387, 399; ecclesiastical, 5, 46, 182,
266, 332; financial, 164, 317, 331-23
medical, 454; military, 164, 332

privileges: book production and selling,
165, 175, 202-4, 332; colleges, 331,
333, 463-4; colonies, 263-6, 270, 274;
faculties, 158, 241; Jews, 295, 444;
jurisdiction, 164, 178, 317, 3313
nobility, 165, 183, 249, 314, 317-18,
332, 369, 397, 432, 444; safeguard,
444; self-management, 164-5, 331;
weapons, 332; women, 296; see
officials, professors

professionalization, 80-1, 214-18, 375,
382-6, 397-406, 411, 415

professions, 9, 43, 48, 54, 59-62, 81,
128, 269, 279, 328, 362-3, 370, 374-
6, 382, 393-411, 453-5, 565, 591,
633, 637

professions, academic: 30-1, I15, 214-
18, 234, 277; see also professors

professions, civil: 318; administrative,
388-97, 407-14, 455, 471, 528; in
provincial service, 140-3, 176-83; in
royal or state service, 118, 121, 126,
I31, 141-3, I§1, 179, 239, 241, 249,
251-2, 367, 387-8, 406, 411-14, 420,
455, 4853 in town service, 10, 20, 51,
86, 118, 129, 138-40, 143, 172, 176,
178, 411-14, 504; see also councils

professions, commercial: merchants, 6,
29, 249, 251, 253, 254, 262, 320, 390,
442, 605

professions, ecclesiastical: 131, 159, 186,
303, 314, 409, 411, 431; canons, 118,
138, 246, 254, 380, 435, 599; Canons
cathedral chapter, 17, 186, 435, 467,
476-7, 544; clergy, 54, 62, 86, 121,
127, 130, 224, 246-7, 253, 257, 261,
263, 266-7, 269, 279, 281, 314, 315,
322, 333, 336, 381, 389-90, 403, 408-
9, 411, 420-2, 427-8, 474-7, 556;
dignitaries, 218, 241, 455; ministers,
144, 145, 269, 272-6, 278-9, 314,
380, 475-6, 479, 484, 626; see also
councils

professions, educational: schoolmaster,
62, 410

professions, legal: 141, 168, 173, 279,
315, 279, 367, 372, 379, 383-4, 400,
407, 410, 411, 414, 445, 455, 601;
advocates, 583; attorney-general, 177;
notary (motarius), 62, 107, 170, 173,
177, 183, 254, 391, 398;
Reichskammergericht, 251, 420

professions, medical: chemists, 410, 543;
healers, 406; pharmacists, 175, 402,
404, 410, 543, 551; physicians, 9, 12,
14, 17, 2O-I, 30, 34, 37, 46, 48, 53,
55> 243, 247, 252-4, 270, 279, 297,
358, 364, 374-7, 379, 385-6, 394-
406, 408, 411, 427, 435-6, 453, 454,
467, 470, 481, 502, 545-6, 558, 589,
609-13; surgeons, 192, 385, 400-6,
452-4, 469, 569, 610

professions, military: engineers, 175

professions, scientific: alchemists, 551;
botanists, 21, 615

professorial typology, 210-14;
chairholders, 168-70; extraordinary
professor (extraordinarius), 213;
lecturer (legens), 211-13; ordinary
professor (ordinarius), 168, 170, 171,
213, 219, 236, 240, 322, 332, 333,
344, 346, 363, 374, 403, 463, 468,
477, 483; regent (regentes), 136, 138,
139, 168, 171, 211, 244, 369, 463,
464; regius professor (professor regit),
26, 32, 36, 125, 213-14, 220, 222

professors, 4, 113-53, 164-79, 210-54;
absenteeism, 217, 238, 242, 250;
appointment and requirements, 40, 61,
67, 127, 132-3, 170, 182, 219-39;
Career, 120, I5I, 1§6, 179, 181, 239-
44; control of, 126, 133-4, 136, 224-
32; duties, 214-18, 224-32;
humanist-professors, 29-42; income,
136, 150, 175, 184-8, 213-14, 224,
232-9, 241-5, 270, 327, 344, 346,
365, 369, 381, 434, 468, 470-3;
laicization, 223-4, 226; mobility, 148,
239-44; nepotism, 127, 131, 227-9;
privileges for, 213-14, 222, 233, 241,
248-52, 332, 369, 546;
self-consciousness, 8, 29-32; social
status, 8, 31-2, 156, 214, 244-52

professorship, see chairs

Protestant academies and universities, 29,
31, 35, 63, 70, 190, 267, 293, 298,
303, 313, 421-4, 427-8, 430, 500,
504, 579, 582, 588, 595, 600-3, 6355
professors, 540, 576, 597, 608, 612;
students, 149, 423, 426

Protestantism, passim; Protestant
countries, 51, 74, 141, 159, 179, 191,
339, 420, 424, 429, 456, 463, 473,

685

Subject index

Protestantism (cont.)
479, 506, 575, 584, 587, 599, 621;
clergy, 36, 54, 380, 382, 390;
educationalists, 18, 579; nobility, 435;
theology, 44, 156, 501-6, 511, 581,
598, 608, 635; see also Calvinism,
Dissenters, Huguenots, Lutheranism,
Presbyterian Church, Puritans,
Remonstrants, Zwinglianism

provisor, see university officials

prudentia, 491-3, 497

Prussia (Germany), 59, 76, 235;
academies, 484; careers, 373-5, 383,
515; kings and princes of, 198, 446,
484; UNIVERSITIES, cameralism, 515;
control, 7, 225, 347; Enlightenment,
516, 606; mobility, 446-7; professors,
230, 248; reforms, 373-5; see also
Frederick I; Frederick William I

psychology, 539, 578

Ptolemaic Almagest, 471; astronomy, 589;
cosmology, 557; geography, 465;
system, 24; texts, 591

public administration, see cameralism

publishing, 9, 203, 215, 278, 5773 see
also books, printing

Puritans, 136, 269, 274, 362, 532

Puylaurens (France, Tarn), UNIVERSITY,
87, 90

Pythagoreanism, 496, 522, 550

quaestor derarit, see receiver

Quebec (Canada), 267, 269; seminaries,
274, 279-80

Quedlinburg (Germany, Sachsen-Anhalt),
297

Queen’s College, see New Jersey

questions (quaestiones), 566, 578, 594,

595
Quito (Ecuador), UNIVERSITY, 264-5

Ramism, 550, 582

Rathwell (United Kingdom, Yorkshire),
academy 479

rector/vice-chancellor, 4, 20, 162-3, 168-
73, 176-9, 181-2, 186, 190-1, 204,
206, 217, 232, 2§3, 263, 271; 277,
286-8, 331, 350, 407, 474-6, 544;
pro-rector, 171, 177

Reformation, see Protestantism

Reims (France, Marne), UNIVERSITY, 85,
93, 569; degrees, 68, 363; mobility,
433-7; see also Migeot, Antoine

relations between authority and subject,
510-44; church and medicine, 452-3;
church and state, 510-12; Jews and

medicine, 295; town and gown, 7, 178,
3525 559

relations between disciplines: arts and
law, 430; arts and medicine, 156, 172,
194; arts and theology, 55, 59, 69, 82,
88, 242, 292, 321, 329-30, 335, 424,
478; law and medicine, 61, 69, 82,
II7, 156, 213, 249-50, 260, 279, 313,
328, 337, 339, 346, 424, 510-13, 517,
520-21, 527-9, 539, 564-5, 600-8;
philosophy and theology, 48, 59, 63,
66, 69, 86, 223, 265, 330, 336-9, 378,
423-4, 569

religious orders, 38, 59, 63, 67, 131, 160,
196, 221, 250, 291, 310, 371, 375,
380, 463, 477, 543

Remonstrants, 390

Renaissance, xxl, I3, 35, 116, 148, 190,
199, 206-7, 247, 320, 416-19, 495,
498, 526, 535, 555s 57% 574, 591;
615

Rennes (France, Ille-et-Villaine),
UNIVERSITY, 89, 93, 128, 156

repetition (repetitio), 213, 216, 331, 334

Republic of Letters, 230, 252, 358, 423,
486, 503, 555

research, xx, Xxi, 9, 17, 38, 58, 80-1,
136, 154, 159, 192, 215, 274, 298-9,
301, 303, 322, 367, 376, 386, 407,
499, 411, 435, 452) 454-55 479-4,
480-6, 533-4, 542-50, 555, 558, 560,
564, 568, 573-4, 578, 616, 630, 639

Reval, see Tallinn

rhetoric, 16, 28, 31, 32, 188, 211, 274,
340, 345, 457, 462, 463, 466, 483,

4935 497, 498, 533, 5375 5725 573s
576, 577, 581; see also liberal arts

Rhine (river), 604

Rhode Island (USA), 273; Brown
University, 267, 276

riding teacher, 175

Riga (Latvia), 413

Rijswijk (Netherlands, Zuid-Holland),
Peace of, 437

Rinteln (Germany, Lower Saxony),
UNIVERSITY, 67, 87, 93, 184; printing,
203; privileges, 203; staff, 175; statutes,
167

Rio de Janeiro (Brazil, Guanabara),
UNIVERSITY, 266

Rio Grande (Brazil, Rio Grande do Sul),
258, 280-1

Ritterakademien, see colleges

Roman law, see law, civil

Rome (Italy), 13, 19, 25, 33-4, 261, 264,
301, 427, 471, 478, 486, 503;
academies, 482, 548, 625; ancient

686

Subject index

Rome, 8, 30; Church of Rome, 124,
286, 292; Holy See, 115, 140, 264;
Jesuits, 191; military technology, 8, 25,
39; physicians, 613; Vatican, library,
200, 495, 502, 506; UNIVERSITY, 30,
130, 496; attendance, 308; colleges,
161, 321, 480; Collegium Angelicum,
85, 105; Collegium Germanicum et
Hungaricum, 117, I21, 392, 429;
Collegium Romanum (Gregoriana), 85,
105, 292, 429; Collegium Urbanum,
429; law, 599, 607; medicine, 613;

St Petersburg (Russia), academies 48, 55,
485, 625; specialized schools, 58;
UNIVERSITY, 48, 59, 79, 89, 94, 123,
232; control, 224; professors, 231-2,
247; teaching, 554-5; see also Euler,
Leonhard; Lomonosov, Mikhail
Vasilyevich

Salamanca (Spain, Salamanca), 518;
Dominicans, 608; UNIVERSITY, 15, 37;
47, 76, 77, 81, 93, 129-33, 155, 288,
328, 337, 466, 494; assemblies, 168-9;
attendance, 300, 306-7; buildings, 193-

mobility, 121, 420, 425, 427, 429, 436, 5; colleges, 161-2, 174, 228, 291, 391,

480; philosophy, 579, 581; professors,
16, 236; studium urbis (Sapienza), 82,
93, 160, 190, 427; theology, 506; see
also Baglivi, Giorgio; Bellarmino,
Roberto; Juvenal; Patricius, Franciscus;
Steuco, Agostino; Suarez, Francisco;
Werner, Johannes

Rosicrucian movement, 497, 508, 560

Rostock (Germany,
Mecklenburg-Vorpommern),
UNIVERSITY, 83, 89, 93; attendance,
304; colleges, 190; library, 199;
mobility, 422, 428, 440; officials, 182;
printing, 202; professors, 216, 233;
Statutes, 167

Rotterdam (Netherlands, Zuid-Holland),
9, 16, 458, 460, 540; Careers, 411-12;
see also Bayle, Pierre; Erasmus,
Desiderius

Rouen (France, Seine-Maritime), Edict of,
126

Royal Society of London, 280, 483-4,
500, 542, 547-8, 553, 555, 623, 625

Russia, 76, 123, 375, 485, 6215
Enlightenment, 631; nobility, 247;
UNIVERSITIES, 48, 55-6, 59, 78, 301,
330; academies, 48; control, 224, 231;
Enlightenment, 631, 635, 638;
language, 225; mobility, 231, 421-2,
438, 440, 445; professors, 231-2, 247;
see also Lomonosov, Mikhail
Vasilyevich; Maxim the Greek

Rutgers University, see New Jersey

Sagres (Portugal, Algarve), 465
Sahagan (Spain, Leén), UNIVERSITY, 85,

St Albans (United Kingdom,
Hertfordshire), 465

St Andrews (United Kingdon, Fife),
UNIVERSITY, 83, 94, 159, 162-3;
medicine, 616-17; mobility, 423, 435,

439
St Gallen (Switzerland, Sankt Gallen), 20

429, 480; degrees, 356, 364, 369;
finance, 188-90; jurisdiction, 176; law,
604; library, 201; medicine, 615;
mobility, 347, 422, 436, 440, 480;
models, 259-60, 263, 266, 271-2;
officials, 180, 181; privileges, 263, 291,
391; professors, 221-33, 236, 238,
240-2, 250; statutes, 259, 271, 596;
teaching, 50, 212; theology, 22, 424,
506, 511; see also Aquinas, Thomas;
Martire d’Angheria, Pietro; Nufiez,
Pedro; Suarez, Francisco; Vitoria,
Francisco de

Salerno (Italy, Salerno), UNIVERSITY, 94;
medicine, 452; statutes, 82

Salzburg (Austria, Salzburg), UNIVERSITY,
87, 94, 122, 133, 145, 425

Santafé de Bogota, see Bogota

Santiago (Chile), 265; UNIVERSITY, 265,
270

Santiago de Compostela (Spain, La
Corufia), UNIVERSITY, 84, 94;
attendance, 306, 378

Santo Domingo (= Dominican Republic),
UNIVERSITIES, 263-4, 266-7

Saracens, see Arabs

Sardinia (Italy), 72

Sassari (Italy, Sassari), UNIVERSITY, 72,
74, 87, 94

Saumur (France, Maine-et-Loire),
UNIVERSITY, 87, 94, 118, 126, 427,
476

Savoy (France), 375; Ritterakademie, 321;
students, 385, 418

Saxony (Germany), 372, 443, 446, 469,
476, 505

Scandinavia, 47, 70, 305; academies, 71,
485; UNIVERSITIES, 77-8, 148, 330,
478; attendance, 301; examination,
372; mobility, 417, 429, 438-9

scholars, passim

scholarships, 159, 160, 186-8, 314, 316-

21, 324, 381, 389, 391, 431

687

Subject index

Schweinfurt (Germany, Bavaria),
Academia Leopoldina, 484, 625

science, passim

scientific experimentation, 232, 384, 464,
482-3, 532, 536, 538, 540, 544, 547,
551, 553-4, 557, 582-5, 592, 610-11,
614

scientific journals, see journalism

Scientific Revolution, xxiii, 13, 38, 155,
156, 445, §31-62, 582, 591, 617

Scotism, 490, 493-5, 503, 518, 532; chair
in, 597

Scotland, 138, 268, 272-3; academies,
275; careers, 384; schools, 139;
surgeons, 403; UNIVERSITIES, 38, 53,
57, 63-6, 77-8, 122, 123, 137-40,
159, 162, 273, 476; attendance, 301;
college-university, 48; colleges, 138-9;
economy, 516; Enlightenment, 438,
587, 624, 629, 631, 637-8; law, 445,
515; library, 198; medicine, 569;
mobility, 138-9, 428-9, 435, 437-40,
479-80, 592; models, 260; philosophy,
516, 558, 624; teaching, 559; theology,
504; see also Great Britain

secularization, see laicization

Sedan (France, Ardennes), UNIVERSITY,
87, 94, 118, 126, 427, 476

Selmecbanya (Hungary), mining academy,
58, 469

seminaries, 265, 371; seminary-university,
66, 86, 265

senatus, see assemblies

Seville (Spain, Sevilla), Casa de la
ContrataciOn, 466; Jesuit college, 292;
UNIVERSITIES, 84, 94

Sicily (Italy), 172; students, 424, 440

Siegen (Germany, Nort
Rhine-Westphalia), military school, 31

Siena (Italy, Siena), UNIVERSITY, 82, 94,
122, 149, 155; attendance, 308, 319;
colleges, 160, 427; Jews, 295; mobility,
417-18, 420-1, 426, 430, 434; nations,
294; printing, 202; professors, 247

Sigiienza (Spain, Guadalajara),
UNIVERSITY, 84, 94

Silesia, nobility, 441

Slavonia, nobility, 422

Slavs, 433

Sgro (Denmark, Zealand), 322

social sciences, 386, 490, 587

social status, 31, 247, 250, 346, 349,
357, 400, 402, 412, 415; aristocracy
and nobility, 29, 165, 183, 246-9, 296,
314-24, 327-8, 332-3, 336, 369, 392,
3975 411, 422, 425, 432, 4355 443-5,
635; artisanate, 249, 314, 388, 411-12,

422, 435, 464, 481, 610; bourgeoisie
(urban), 26, 299, 315, 321, 3375 3455
348, 352, 388, 395, 539, 624, 632;
elites, 61-2, 75, 325; middle class, 409;
patriciate, 328, 390, 413, 433, 481;
poor, 237, 276, 291, 319, 328, 338,
347, 396, 431; rural class, 13, 247,
274, 411, §41; servants (famuli,
servitores), 4, 25, 30, 62, 63, 116, 123,
125, 130, 138, 141, 147, 175, 177,
217, 246, 249, 254, 287, 296, 299,
310, 313-15, 319-21, 327, 382, 387,
390-1, 395, 406, 408, 414, 455-6;
upper class, 636

Society of Arceuil, 555

Society of Jesus, see Jesuits

socius (apprentice, master’s pupil
assistant), 211, 278, 333, 335, 379
452, 464, 471, 566, 569, 610

sodalitates, see academies

Solsona (Spain, Lérida), UNIVERSITY, 87,
89, 94

South America, 14, 21, 259, 266;
UNIVERSITIES, 256-8, 275, 280

Spain, 15, 32, 66, 725 74-6, 120, 130,
156, 229, 259, 262-4, 326-7, 367,
384, 393, 513, 518; academies, 481;
careers, 247; colonies, 15, 22-3, 257-
71, 392, §10-11; education, 23, 318,
322; Jesuit colleges, 319, 330; kings,
19, 23, 130, 133, 172, 220, 261, 267,
416; learned societies, 625; letrados,
63, 247, 287, 379, 390-1, 395-6, 433,
511; nobility, 15, 318, 322; physicians,
21, 404; specalized schools, 463-9;
students, 420, 424, 428, 430, 433, 436,
443; Writers, 12, 21, 33; UNIVERSITIES,
22, 495 51, 53, 64, 65, 70, 74, 77-8,
122, 160, 162, 261, 280-1, 306, 479;
attendance, 300, 307, 310-II, 315,
319, 379, 383, 385; botany, 534;
colegios mayores 77, 131, 132, 221,
291, 318, 323, 329, 337-8, 346, 357,
391, 425, 432, 436; college-university,
48, 53, 338; colleges, 250, 267, 291,
318-19, 322, 334-9, 341, 3525
convent-universities, 63; degrees, 363,
368; dress, 206, 348; Enlightenment,
624, 627, 636-8; examination, 373;
festivities, 350; history, 534; insignia,
206; Jews, 430; languages, 40, 272,
275, 416; law, 368, 424, 513, 599,
604; mendicant orders, 223; mobility,
417-18, 420, 422, 424, 434, 440, 481;
New Science, 556; officials, 171, 181;
philosophy, 11, 492, 578, 580, 584;
professors, 213, 219, 221, 240, 242,

688

Subject index

247, 416; refOrms, 272, 373, 636, 638;
seminary-university, 66; teaching, 214,
360; theology, 492, 505-6, 511, 597;
608; see also Escobar, AlfOnso; Iberian
peninsula; Spanish America; Suarez,
Francisco; Vitoria, Francisco de

Spanish America, UNIVERSITIES, 259-61,
263-7, 207-71, 280-1

specialized schools (academies), 46, 58-9,
123, 469, 625-6; school in commerce,
58; education, 81; engineering, 46-7,
58, 81, 469, 625; fine arts, 58-9, 625;
forestry, 46; languages, 81-2, 423, 445,
564, 570, §98; medicine, 81;
midwifery, 123; military (academy), 46,
58-9, 123, 469; mining, 58, 81, 551,
469, 635; pharmaceutical medicine,
123; public administration, 46, 58,
123, 625-6, 635; public work, 81, 94;
surgery, 58, 59, 123, 626, 632;
technology, 533; veterinary medicine,
46, 58, 123, 469, 611, 635

Stadthagen (Germany, Lower Saxony),
UNIVERSITY, 87

Star Chamber Decree, 204

statutes, 26, 29, 64, 66, 74, 76, 82, 113,
121, 133, 136, 138, 141, 143, I5I,
156, 163-7, 169-70, 173, 175, 178,
180-1, 197, 201-2, 204, 208, 212,
217-18, 220-1, 227, 231, 246, 285-9,
319, 326, 331, 333, 343, 348-9, 352,
457, 483, 533-4, 563, 573, 582, 596,
637; colonies, 259, 263, 271

Steinfurt (Germany, North
Rhine-Westphalia), academy, 118;
degrees, 68; privileges, 50

Stockholm (Sweden), academy, 485, 625

Stoicism, 31-2, 45, 493, 502, 5503; see
also Ciceronian-Stoic

Strasburg (France, Bas-Rhin), 29, 65, 476,
499; specialized schools, 87;
gymnasium, 291-2; UNIVERSITY, 27,
71, 88, 94, 123, 203; attendance, 304,
314, 321, 386; degrees, 68; law, 601,
604; library, 196; medicine, 609, 611;
mobility, 121, 232, 419, 421, 422, 424,
435, 440; models, 64, 117; philosophy,
573, 576; professors, 232; see also
Bernegger, Matthias; Calvin, John;
Obrecht, Georg; Sturm, John

students (studens, studentes), passim; age
of, 55, 169, 285, 288-9, 311, 338-9,
355, 360-1, 477; beanus, 349, 3503
behaviour, 115, 181, 218, 271, 293,
296, 327, 331, 339, 348, 352, 413,
439; false students (falsi scolares), 74,
206, 287, 513, 558; life, 36, 150, 161,

I9I, 326-9, 338-52, 446, 464;
student-councillor, 169, 172; typology,
64

studium generale, see university

Stuttgart (Germany, Baden-Wiirttemberg),
UNIVERSITY, 46, 47, 60, 89, 94, 409;
cameralism, 374

Sucre, see La Plata

suppositus, see university member

surgery, 82, 375, 438, 469, 612, 626;
surgeons, 192, 385, 400-6, 452-4, 469,
569, 610; academic teaching in, 609-
10; chair of, 453; school in, 58, 59,
123, 626, 632

Sweden, 186, 395; archbishop, 179;
kings, 31, 226, 425; schools, 147;
students, 411, 439, 445-6;
UNIVERSITIES, 71, 123, 147, 166, 305,
340; assemblies, 168; attendance, 305,
382; chemistry, 611; degrees, 349, 365;
examination, 373; finance, 187; library,
196; mobility, 421, 441; see also
Finland; Linnaeus, Carolus; Tartu;
Turku

Switzerland, 26, 52, 63, 251, 272;
academies, 63; students, 422, 425, 429,
431; UNIVERSITIES, 64, 71, 73, 78,
230; attendance, 299; cameralism, 374;
mobility, 428, 438-9; professors, 26;
see also Vadianus

Syriac, 36, 460

Tallinn (Reval) (Estonia), 413;
UNIVERSITY, 87

Tarragona (Spain, Tarragona),
UNIVERSITY, 86, 89, 94

Tartu (Dorpat) (Estonia), careers, 413;
UNIVERSITY, 52, 87, 90, 91, 1473
attendance, 305, 378-9; finance, 187;
library, 201; mobility, 407, 428, 439,
446; Officials, 179; statutes, 166

teachers, dance, 175; fencing, 175; riding,
175; see also professors

teaching courses, 12, 38, 54, 63, 65, 69,
88, 133, 202, 211, 213, 216, 223, 246,
251, 260-1, 263, 265, 274, 288, 291,
295, 309, 313, 318, 328, 346-7, 360,
374, 375, 381, 393, 398, 399, 417,
430, 432, 434, 442, 452, 463, 471,
535, 5725 578, 589, 591, 601-3, 609—
I1, 629; holidays, 351; instruments,
187; methods, 4, 455 $9, II7, 351;
565, 630; language, 456, 458-9, 569-
71, §73, 624; Sturmian model, 50, 54,
117

teaching, private, 213, 218, 236, 237,
2709; 274-6, 289, 31$5 317, 322, 341,

6389

Subject index

teaching, private (cont.)
344, 398, 432, 466, 467-8, 473, 475,
479, 482, 534, 543-4, 568, 571-2,
579, 618

technology, technological sciences, 25, 81,
192, 391, 458, 464, 467-9, 624, 625,
636, 638; school, 533; see also
mechanical arts

textbooks, 11, 29, 38, 248, 271, 275,
2775 341-5, 426, 458, 534-7, 563,
567, 576-8, 582, 608, 637; Arabic,
452; botany, 21, 61; cameralism, 604;
geography, 20, 465; grammar, 576;
Greek, 452, 458, 461; history, 576;
law, 35, 602, 605, 608; mathematics,
586, 589; medicine, 34, 566; military,
31; optics, 589; philosophy, 578, 581,
562; physics, 582, 586; scholastic, 134;
technology, 467; theology, 494, 506,
593, 596; zoology, 21; prescribed
books, 134, 224; syllabi, 559, 577, 617

The Hague (Netherlands), 436; specialized
school, 58

Theatines, 321

theatrum anatomicum, see anatomy

theological preaching, 133, 218, 236,
277, 503; teaching, 22, 36, 90, 124,
220, 460, 564, 593-9; see faculty of
theology

theology, academic theology, 501, 506,
517; Aristotelian theology, 501;
Calvinist, 423, 446, 504; Catholic, 44,
494, 500, 502, 504-6, 597, 599, 602;
Jewish, 502; Lutheran, 82, 501, 504,
596; Protestant, 44, 156, 501-7, SII,
608; see also Thomism

theology, biblical exegesis, 503, 565-6,
569, 572, 576, 578, 580-1, 595-7,
600-2, 606-9; Holy Scriptures, 22, 32,
36, 38-9, 237, 339, 340, 458-60, 477,
SOI, 507, 525-6, $77, 581, 593-7

Thermidorians, 632

Thirty Years War, 4, 72, 300, 304, 317,
428, 434, 446, 478

Thirty-nine Articles of Religion of the
established Church, 226; Thirty-nine
Articles of the Anglican faith, 429

Thomism, 264, 493-4, 503, 5IO-II, 581,
597, 598; Spanish Thomist tradition,
510; Thomist Aristotelianism, 493, 598

Thuringian states (Germany), 245

Tlatelolco, Colegio de Santa Cruz
(Mexico, Mexico City), 268

Toledo (Spain, Toledo), 129; UNIVERSITY,

84, 94
tolerance, 22, 37, 122, 226, 273-4, 281,

294, 305, 437, 479, 483, 514-15

Tortosa (Spain, Tarragona), UNIVERSITY,
85, 89, 94

Toulouse (France, Haute Garonne),
mendicant orders, 223; UNIVERSITY,
82, 94, 125, 334; botany, 612; colleges,
328, 340; professors, 220-1

Tournon (France, Ardéche), UNIVERSITY,
52, 85, 94

trade, see commerce

training, see education

translations, 10, 12, 21, 569, 590, 628

Transylvania (Romania), 77

Trent (Italy, Trente), Council of, 59, 63,
72, 120, 218, 226, 368, 428, 477,
505-6, 518; Edict of, 126; Tridentine
seminaries, 264-5

Trier (Germany, Rhineland-Palatinate),
UNIVERSITY, 83, 94, 425

trilingual colleges, see colleges

Trinity College Dublin, see Dublin

Trnava, see Nagyszombat

Tiibingen (Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemberg), 248; Collegium
illustre, 317; UNIVERSITY, 21, 46, 70,
84, 94, 120, 159, 496, 592; attendance,
321, 379; Greek and Hebrew, 496,
569; medicine, 609; officials, 179;
professors, 217, 219, 222, 228, 247,
461; teaching, 360, 461, 472, 543-4,
546, 569; see also Camerarius,
Joachim; Fuchs, Leonhard; Kepler,
Johannes; Maéstlin, Michael; Reuchlin,
Johannes; Scheck family; Schegk, James

Tucuman (Argentina, Tucuman), see
Cordoba

Turin (Italy, Torino), specialized school
58; UNIVERSITY, 83, 94, 3933
attendance, 308, 322; mobility, 437;
professors, 228, 231, 238

Turkey, 10, 19, 72, 77, 90; students, 422,

440

Turku (Abo) (Finland, Turku-Pori),
careers, 409; UNIVERSITY of Abo, 88,
90, 102, 147, 174, 2373; attendance,
305, 378-9; chemistry, 611; finance,
187; jurisdiction, 177; library, 201;
mobility, 439; officials, 179; statutes,
166; see also Bilmark, Johan

Turnau, see Nagyszombat

Tuscany (Italy), 149, 459, 481, 5445
students, 294, 420; UNIVERSITIES, 122;
see also Galilei, Galileo

Ukraine, academy, 48
United Kingdom, 138
United States, 13, 258, 262, 637

690

Subject index

universitas, 47, §4, 329, 331; universitas
magistrorum et scholarium, 343; see
further universities

universities, passim

university administration, 126, 164-95,
222, 271, 273, 277, 318, 323; archives,
195, 2OI-2, 246, 406, 563; archivists,
168, 175, 201; members (civis
academicus, suppositus), 4, 26, 31,
166, 168, 174-5, 178-9, 197, 202,
252, 256, 314, 338, 340, 342, 356,
369, 442, 464, 481, 482, 585

university autonomy, 22, 62, 64, 67, 83,
113, 118-21, 128, 136, 143-5, I§1,
1§5, 162, 164, 170, 185, 189, 205,
224-5, 227, 270, 331-3, 338, 348,
5II, §20, 528

university foundations, 34, 41, 43, 46-52,
58-9, 70-2, 81, 89-91, 102, 123, 138,
140-9, 163, 177, 182-3, 188, 194-6,
202, 2II-I2, 223, 230-2, 257-70,
305, 423-4, 460-1, 467, 503, 506,
526, 537, 547, 550, 57, $99, 603,
610, 626, 629, 639; founders, 64, 66,
II4, 119, 164, 189, 257, 259, 262,
267, 272, 319, 338, 466, 479, 484;
founding charters, 80, 86, 166, 267-9,
272, 274, 277, 280, 483

university models, xxii, 8, 25, 28-40, 50-
4, §7-67, 72-6, 113-18, 141-3, 147,
155-9, 256-62, 271-2, 280-2, 582-3,
607, 631-9; see Bologna, Cambridge,
Coimbra, Halle, Leiden, Oxford,
Padua, Paris, Pisa, Salamanca,
Strasburg, Valladolid, Wittenberg;
Sturm, Johannes; presses, 201-4

university officials: aedilis, 174; assessor,
169, 177, 251, 420; auditor, 168, 253;
beadle (bedellus), 169, 173, 175-7;
207; bursar (bursarius, receptor), 173-
5, 187; Bursenmeister, 339; butler, 175;
chemist, 332; clerk, 38, 173, 177, 182,
251, 253, 286, 391, 414; clerk of the
market, 182; collector, 174, 346, 391,
458; conservator of privileges, 177,
180-2; contadores, 174; controllers of
weight (almocatenes), 182; curator,
169, 182; depositor, 175, 349, 3503
emonitor, 175; guardian, 174; hacedor,
174; hebdomadar, 176; juezcollector,
174, 176; legate, 182, 230;
maestrescuela, 179; masters of
ceremonies, 175; masters of the street,
176; messenger (nuntius), 173, 288,
503; Orator 207; president, 199, 231,
232, 237, 252, 253, 273, 275-8, 333,
484, 486; principal or provisor, 21,

157, 169, 174, 238, 265, 299, 333,
338, 348, 391, 424, 430, 452, 454,
461, 469-71, 480, 486, 568, 573;
proctor, 169, 174, 176, 204; promotor,
176, 547; protector, 132, 172, 182;
provisor fisci, 174, 182; receiver
(receptor, collector, quaestor aerarii),
174, 253; reformator studii, 76, 177,
182; registrar, 173; scribe (dictator),
170, 173, 180; secretary, 15, 40, 62,
170, 173, 175, 177, 180, 187, 180,
249, 253, 391, 407, 414, 484;
secretary-general, 177; solicitor, 62,
177, 178, 254, 398; steward, 175, 254;
syndic (syndicus), 169-70, 173, 175,
177, 3575 411; taxator (tasador), 174,
182; treasurer (massarius), 170, 174,
253, 412, 484; tutores studii, 23, 276,
278, 3355 340, 431, 484; visitor, 278,
287, 336, 547; see also chancellor,
library, rector/vice-chancellor

university reforms, 10, 43, 56, 75-7, 80,
I17, 120-52, 1§6, 165-6, 172, 180-1,
184, 195, 224-5, 252, 304, 308, 323-
4, 370-5, 380, 393, 422, 438, 450,
462, SOI, 515, 527, 560, 615, 623,
626-7, 630-9; reform of curricula, 3 5-
6, 56, 77, 151, 155, 272, 366, 372,
375» 402, 446, 455, 460, 463, 466,
470, 531-2, $52, 579-80, 595-73 of
degrees, 65, 77, 360; of professoriate,
224-6, 238-9, 241, 245, 249, 2525
structure and organization, 47-70,
155-89 and passim

university typology, 64-70, 155-6;
college-universities, 48, 53, 63, 85, 155,
172, 338; collegiate universities, 155;
convent-universities, 63; four-faculty
universities, 155-6; professorial
university, 155; Seminary-university, 66,
86, 265

Uppland (Sweden), 187

Uppsala (Sweden, Uppsala), academy,
625; UNIVERSITY, 70, 84, 94, 147-8,
159, 543-4, 547, 615; attendance, 305;
botany, 612; chemistry, 611; finance,
187; law, 604; library, 196; mobility,
428, 439; Officials, 175, 179-80;
professors, 226, 236; statutes, 166,
180; see also Celsius, Anders; Linnaeus,
Carolus

Urbino (Italy, Pesaro e Urbino),
UNIVERSITY, 88, 94

USSR Academy of Sciences, 232

Utrecht (Netherlands, Utrecht), 473;
UNIVERSITY, 88, 94, 144, 232, 251,
296, 578, 613; finance, 186;
jurisdiction, 176; library, 196; mobility,

691

Subject index

Utrecht (cont.)
430; women, 296; see also Goens,
Rijklof Michaél van; Regius, Henry;

Reitz, Johan Frederik; Schurman, Anna

Maria van; Wesseling, Petrus

Valence (France, Drdme), UNIVERSITY,
70, 82, 83, 94; degrees, 68; law, 162;
mobility, 419

Valencia (Spain, Valencia), 71; schools,
322; UNIVERSITY, 84, 94, 434

Valladolid (Spain, Valladolid),
UNIVERSITY, 77, 82, 94, 1293
attendance, 306-7, 322; colleges, 221,

228, 291, 391; law, 221; mobility, 436;

models, 259; officials, 384; privileges,
291, 391; professors, 236, 240;
theology, 506; see also Suarez,
Francisco

Vastmanland (Sweden), 187

Vatican, see Rome

Vaud (Switzerland), 476

Venice (Italy, Venezia), 15, 37, 149, 163,

Virginia (United States), 257; universities,
267, 272-3, 276-9

visitors, see officials

Vorarlberg (Austria), 441

Wales (United Kingdom), UNIVERSITIES,
78

War of Succession, 437

Warrington (United Kingdom, Cheshire),

Warsaw (Poland), 79; Academy of the
Theatines, 321

Wash (river), 584

Weinheim (Germany,
Baden-Wiirttemberg), UNIVERSITY, 82,

West Midlands, Lunar Society, 555

Westminster Confession, 139

Westphalia (Germany), 443; Peace of, 50

White Mountain (Bila Hora) (Czech
Republic, Prague), battle of, 428

Williams College, see Massachusetts,
Williams College

186, 480; Collegium Medicum, 294,
426; Count Palatine, 426; nobility, 296;
printing, 9, 202, 458; Senate, 222, 426;
UNIVERSITY, 84, 94; degrees, 68;
finance, 186; medicine, 611; mobility,
426, 431, 440, 446; see also Manutius,
Aldus sen.

Verona (Italy, Verona), specialized school,
150

Versailles (France, Yvelines), 268

Vich (Spain, Barcelona), UNIVERSITY, 87,
89, 94

Vienna (Austria), 18, 20, 33, 572;
academies and learned societies, 32,
323, 625; library, 199; specialized
schools, 58, 469;
Studienhofkommission, 180;
UNIVERSITY, 60, 82, 94, 117, 123, 142,
193, 238, 244, 328; attendance, 303-5,
314-15; buildings, 193; colleges, 60,
321, §70, 635; history, 575; insignia,
205-6; library, 196, 201; medicine,
224, 402, 609, 611; mobility, 285, 421,
425, 438-9, 441, 470-1; nations, 162;
officials, 179-80; professors, 238, 244;
reforms, 180, 402; theology, 506; see
also Celtis, Conrad; Lambeck, Peter;
Peurbach, Georg von; Regiomontanus,
Johannes; Vadianus

Vienne (France, Isére), Council of, 35
Vilnius (Lithuania), academy, 48;
UNIVERSITY, 52, 86, 94, 146; buildings,
191; mobility, 121, 425

Williamsburg (United States, Virginia),
278

Windsor (Canada, Nova Scotia), 270

wine, 186, 233, 248, 332, 336, 341, 346,
347, 442, 505

Wittenberg (Germany, Sachsen-Anhalt),
44, I17, 459; UNIVERSITY, 4, I0, 35-6,
38, 43, 47, 73, 84, 94, 120-1, 143,
147, 202, 476; academies, 43;
attendance, 304; degrees, 367; mobility,
421-3, 428, 440, 443, 446, 470;
models, 289; professors, 234, 236, 244,
462, 470, 595-6; statutes, 167;
teaching, 571; women, 297; see also
Apel, Johann; Cordus, Valerius; Luther,
Martin; Melanchthon, Philip

Wolfenbiittel (Germany, Lower Saxony),
198; see also Leibniz, Gottfried
Wilhelm

women, 75, 160, 258, 295-7, 352; female
students, 296-7; scholars, 296-7; see
Agnesi, Amoretti, Bassi, Guzman,
Leporin, Patin, Piscopia, Schurman

Woolwich (United Kingdom, London),
specialized school, 58

Worms (Germany, Rhineland-Palatinate),
249

Wroctaw, see Breslau

Wiirttemberg (Germany), 217, 410; see
also Ludwig of Wiirttemberg

Wirzburg (Germany, Bavaria), illustrious
school, 83; UNIVERSITY, 83, 88, 94,
142, 694; attendance, 321; buildings,
193; jurisdiction, 176; library, 201;

692

Subject index

mobility, 421, 425; professors, 224,
226; see also Ickstatt, Johann Adam
Freiherr von; Zoesius, Thomas

Yale University, see Connecticut

York (United Kingdom, North Yorkshire),

53
Yorkshire (United Kingdom), 479; school,
158

Zamoésé (Poland, Zamosc), 67; academy,
48; UNIVERSITY, 49, 86, 94

Zaragoza (Saragossa) (Spain, Zaragoza),
UNIVERSITY, 84, 94, 222

Zeeland (Netherlands), 52

Zerbst (Germany, Sachsen-Anhalt), 423

Zierikzee (Netherlands, Zeeland), 52;
students, 412

zoology, 21

Zurich (Switzerland, Ziirich), 17, 22, 34,
144, 470; higher learning, 117;
theological academy, 52; see also
Bullinger, Heinrich; Gessner, Conrad

Zutphen (Netherlands, Gelderland),
careers, 412; students, 378-9

Zwinglianism, 504-5; Zwinglian
University, 143

693

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